His Captive (12 page)
Authors: Diana J. Cosby
And left.
She wanted to be angry at him, but for what reason? He’d taken nothing but what she’d offered. As for her confinement within the chamber, he was ignorant of her fear of being locked within a room or her terror of thunderstorms.
With her body still aching for his touch, she didn’t need for him to be noble. Not now. Not when her feelings toward him had grown dangerously tender with each passing day.
Numb, Nichola crossed the room and lay on the bed, the softness of the feather bed far from easing the pain in her heart. She stared up at the ceiling painted with the images of fairies, but thoughts of sleep were the farthest thing from her mind.
Alexander rode through the night as if chased by the hounds of hell. Wind whipped against his face, its taste cool, the hard lash welcome. When his horse began to lather, he reined his bay to a walk. He allowed him to pick his way down a steep bank toward the loch.
At a shallow beach, he drew his horse to a halt and dismounted. Without hesitation, he stripped off his clothes and dove into the dark, cold waters. With each stroke, he damned himself for touching Nichola again. With each kick, he wanted her. With each kiss, he had crossed barriers he and circumstance forbade.
Furious to be caught in such an emotional mire, he dove deep, until it felt as if his chest would explode. He kicked to the surface and gasped air in desperate gulps.
“She means bloody nothing!” His shout, an echo of mutilated anger, shattered over the water’s surface.
Though his limbs trembled from exertion and his mind spun from lack of air, he still hadn’t purged himself of Nichola. Muttering a curse, he swam long, mind-exhausting strokes, until the moon began to slide from his view and his limbs grew thick and weary.
Exhausted, and doubting he would ever rid himself of thoughts of her, of the silky taste of her, he finally swam to the sandy shore. He wiped his brow as he walked up the shallow bank to retrieve his clothes. Alexander halted.
They were gone.
Tension rippled through him. God’s teeth. He’d been so lost in thoughts of Nichola, he’d let down his guard and ignored the possibility of an attack by the baron in retribution for his sister’s abduction.
As quickly, he dismissed the act as the baron’s doing; he would have taken his mount. He’d interrupted thieves. He scanned the area as he edged toward his bay. And if he was right, they were still out there.
His bay nickered and flicked his ears toward him.
“A good bloody lot you are,” he muttered as he reached his side. And froze. His weaponry was stripped from its sheaths as well.
Positive he was being watched, Alexander covertly scanned the blackened forest for sign of the intruder. If an arrow wasn’t trained at him, he might, just might, be able to escape.
He raised his foot to the stirrup.
“Move another inch and you are dead,” a deep, raspy voice threatened.
Alexander debated the risks of jumping on his horse and making a run for it. Either way, naked and defenseless, the odds weren’t in his favor.
“What do you want?” he called out, stalling for time as he decided on the best plan to escape.
“The woman.”
Nichola? His heart stopped. He’d been followed from England? But how? He’d double checked his trail as they’d rode. He’d not seen a sign of anyone in pursuit. As if he would have, he thought with disgust. He’d been so distracted by Nichola the entire journey that a fool could have danced a jig on his head and he wouldn’t have noticed.
“What woman do you speak of?” Alexander asked, buying time.
An arrow whizzed past on the left, not three feet away and embedded into a tree with a solid thunk. “The English woman you abducted for ransom.”
“I . . .” The request for her ransom had only been sent last eve. Unless someone attacked the runner and seized the message, no one would know.
Another arrow whipped past, this time from another direction. It landed to his right. “You will be answering us.”
Alexander ignored the low-growled threat as he eyed two familiar notches, a thumb’s length apart, cut into the shaft of the arrow caught in the fading light of the moon. He’d helped his brothers secure the feathers on the wooden shaft but a month ago.
He glared into the concealing brush that hedged the forest, then toward the brush where the other man had called out. His brothers thought to have fun with him, did they?
“I have abducted no one,” Alexander called out.
A harsh snort of disbelief answered his reply. “If you have a need to take your next breath, you will be telling us the truth.”
“Where have you left her?” the other man demanded.
Alexander almost smiled, but he kept his face passive. “The wench came willingly.”
A drunken chuckle fell from the man to his left. “Not for that scrawny attempt you call your manhood.”
Muffled laughter broke out from the other brush.
“Stay back,” the voice hitched as Alexander strode forward. “I have another arrow nocked and aimed at your heart.”
Alexander charged.
“Certes!” Duncan yelped. His murky figure darted from the brush.
Alexander caught Duncan and tackled him to the ground. Entwined within the shouts came the muffled fray of laughter.
Leaves and rock poked into his back, but Alexander only cursed and laughed harder. A fast ride and a demanding swim had done nothing to ease the tension of wanting Nichola. But this, where his fists could release the unspent energy coiled in his body, was another matter.
A knee in his thigh had Alexander groaning. Before his brother could gain the upper hand, he flipped Duncan on his back and pinned his hands.
“I have him,” Patrik yelled as he tackled Alexander from behind. He fell forward with Alexander beneath him, the words spilling out with drunken glee.
“About time, you arse.” Duncan sat up and wiped his mouth, spitting out leaves and a spot of blood before he stood with a whoop and dove over to help Patrik.
“Hold his other arm, will you?” Patrik shouted. “He has split open my lip.”
“Nothing but what you are deserving,” Alexander growled, satisfied when he managed to shove Patrik off. He plowed his fist into Duncan’s chin and sent his brother flat on his back. Gratification lasted only a second as Patrik piled on top of him with a hearty shout. Alexander rolled over, then grunted as Duncan jumped atop him as well.
“Get off me,” Patrik yelped. “Christ, you are both as heavy as a foul-breed ox.”
Neither man moved, but each began to chuckle, which collapsed into deep, rumbling laughs.
“You will make me spill the last of the wine I have tucked within me trews,” Duncan charged, and fell off them both as he chortled with laughter.
“You have the wine? Why did you not say so before.” Patrik shoved Alexander aside and snatched the bottle from Duncan’s hands. He opened the top and downed a healthy draught. Patrick glanced over as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “How did you know it was us?”
“Duncan’s arrows,” Alexander said matter-of-factly as he accepted the bottle. He took another drink. “I helped him make the shafts. I always carve two notches, a thumb’s length apart, into each shaft I make.”
Patrik glared at Duncan.
“How was I to know he would look at the shaft?” Duncan retorted. “Bloody eyes of an eagle.”
“Never forget that,” Alexander said with a laugh.
They laid back, taking turns until the wine bottle lay empty.
With a foul curse, Duncan tossed the empty container into the brush. It landed with a muffled clink. On a long sigh, he folded his arms under his head. “Look at the stars.”
Alexander stared at the bright shimmers of light so alive within the blackened heavens. “Aye. It is a fine night.”
“If only it could stay this way,” Patrik said with such sadness, that Alexander glanced toward him. Patrik met his gaze. “Once the uprising begins, there may never come a time like this again.”
Alexander laid his head back on the cool of the earth, his throat tight with emotion. Aye, war spared none. Before the first fall of snow, he, or any of his brothers could lay dead, cut down by the English. But each man who entered war understood the cost. This time here, now, was the most precious.
Time he would savor.
Duncan picked up a handful of leaves and tossed them into the air. They spiraled down in a lazy swirl. “Are you afraid of the upcoming fight?”
“Aye,” Alexander said in a solemn reply. “Only a fool would not be. But it is our only choice.” Grunts of agreement from his brothers followed his statement. Then amicable silence fell between them.
Patrik pushed a stone near his foot. “You checked on the woman?”
Alexander shrugged, not wanting to be reminded of Nichola, of their kiss, or that he’d almost taken her innocence.
“What is wrong?” Patrik asked. “You have not started to care about the lass, have you?” Though quietly said, his words held a warning of the necessity of keeping her at a distance.
“I would never do anything as half-witted as that.” The last thing Alexander wanted to discuss was his feelings for Nichola. He damn well understood what was at stake. And his part. He sat up and glared at his brothers. “Blast it, where are my clothes and arms?”
The tension between them eroded. “Ask Duncan,” Patrik said with a laugh.
Duncan jumped to his feet. Leaves crunched underfoot as he slowly began to back away.
“Halt,” Alexander demanded.
His brother took another step back.
“I told him not to put them there,” Patrik said, the humored delight on his face, even in the waning light, clear.
“Where?” Alexander growled at Duncan as he stepped toward him.
“In the nettles,” Patrik supplied.
“You promised not to say a word,” Duncan yelled, but little regret played in his expression. With a holler of delight, he bolted into the forest.
Alexander raced after him. Sticks poked at his feet, limbs slapped against his naked flesh.
Duncan’s laughter echoed throughout the woods.
With a curse, Alexander tackled his brother several yards away from Duncan’s horse. He flipped Duncan over and pinned him to the ground.
“You are going into the bushes after them,” Alexander ordered with devilish delight.
“It was in jest!” Duncan tried to pry him off. “I used a stick to shove them in. Is your brain fogged? I can not go in there. I will be itching like a madman for the next day.”
“A fate you deserve.”
“Patrik, where in bloody hell are you?” Distant laughter met Duncan’s request.
Duncan twisted beneath him. When he couldn’t budge, he grinned up at Alexander, the gentle, fun-loving smile he used to charm. “I will ride home and fetch you another change of clothes.”
“Ha. As if you would ever return. I know your tricks too well.” He caught his brother by the scruff of his neck. “You are going to go in there and retrieve them now or I will toss you into the nettles myself.”
His face paled. “You would not.”
He arched a brow, remembering Nichola’s plight, finding immense satisfaction in his brother sharing the same fate. “No?”
“Get off me,” Duncan grumbled. “I will get your bloody clothes. Not that you will be appreciating my efforts.”
“You shoved them in,” Alexander said as he hauled his brother up with him as he stood, “and you will be getting them out.”
“Not even appreciating a bit of humor,” Duncan muttered when his brother released him. He brushed off the dirt and leaves from his garb.
Alexander gestured him forward. “Move.”
His younger brother glared back toward where Patrik sat, rolling with laughter at his plight. “The braggart will get his own.” He stomped off, muttering something about trust and badgers.
With a shake of his head, Alexander followed, his mirth complete as Duncan yelped and cursed as he shoved through the nettles and plucked Alexander’s clothes from the briars.
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