His Captive (20 page)
Authors: Diana J. Cosby
“This.” She gestured around the church with unfurled contempt.
“Nichola, I—”
“Do not give me empty words.” She took a step toward him. “If you had not abducted me things would have been different.” She jerked in a desperate breath, the belief bright in her eyes. “And mayhap my brother would not be dead.”
“I—”
“What?” she attacked. “Did not steal me from my home? Did not care whose life you threw into chaos? Or was it,” she said stepping toward him, “that you did not care as long as the thrill of challenge remained. Now you have had your thrill—and my brother is dead. Tell me,” she said as she took another step toward him. “Do you find excitement in that? And what now? You will have your money in the end and that is all you care about. Isn’t it?”
“No,” he said, his own anger coming fast. He caught her by the shoulders, hurting, wanting to comfort, to explain. Guilt stilled his tongue. He tried to soothe himself with the reminder that if not him, another of his brothers would have ridden to complete the abduction. Would they have taken Nichola when Lord Monceaux was absent from his residence?
That he couldn’t answer for sure.
And that doubt ate away at him until his mind churned with only regret. He gentled his hold. “I never meant you harm.”
She gave a brittle laugh. “No? Though not your intent, you succeeded quite well.”
“Nichola—”
“Have you not said enough?” She tried to move from his hold, but he held tight. “Let me go.”
“I cannot.” He caught her face gently in his hands. “Stay with me. We could handfast this day.” The words fell out before he could stop them.
Her eyes widened in total disbelief.
“I can offer you a home and protection. You would never want,” he quickly added. ’Twas easy to envision her within his life. There would be times of fury, but he would ensure the emotions always slid to passion. And there would be heat, that for which a saint would sell his soul.
Contempt clouded her face, shattering his visions of her in his future. “How dare you think I would remain here as your wife! The sight of you sickens me.”
She tugged at her hand still held in his.
This time he let her go. “I am sorry.” He was, more than he could ever express.
Nichola shook her head then opened her mouth as if to speak. With a cry, she bolted out the door and headed toward the keep.
Shattered, Alexander watched her run. What in God’s name had he done?
Struggling against the tears, Nichola bolted across the courtyard, not wanting to believe Griffin was dead. Her chest ached, her body shook from exhaustion.
How dare Alexander ask her to be his wife! She couldn’t remain here. Worse, wanting him, the security he offered, the tenderness of his touch compared to the emptiness she faced, for a moment she had almost accepted his offer.
Her pulse raced as she ran up the turret steps, then she broke into the sunlight of the wall walk. Nichola halted before the embrasure where she and Alexander had stood only a short while before.
The early-afternoon bell of none pealed. Nichola wrapped her arms across her chest in a protective gesture and stared at the pristine waters of the loch. Somewhere in her saddened haze, the bells of vespers filled the air, announcing that many hours had passed since her arrival on the wall walk. Surprised, she looked up and found the sun now hung low in the sky, shards of amber light mellowing into a soft gold as if to bid the day a final farewell.
She scanned the rugged landscape bathed in the golden light, feeling empty. Through the exhaustion, she couldn’t deny the truth.
Mary help her, she loved Alexander.
Nichola hung her head, trying to catch her breath, to digest the feelings she would rather deny. What was she going to do now? With the differences between their countries, a union between them would never work. Even now he supported a rebellion that would most likely lead to war. And her home, situated on the unstable border, would most likely fall prey to the upcoming battles.
Home.
She’d almost forgotten the debts. Her brother’s death wouldn’t halt the creditors who would demand their due. For all practical purposes, she didn’t have a home to return to. Yes, she would go back, to sell off the final pieces of value, but even then, would that be enough to pay off the debts?
Morbid humor rose swift and sharp. If after selling off the last family heirloom and she still hadn’t settled her debts, she might be cast into the debtor’s prison. Even knowing this, she remained resolute. If she managed to escape, she would ensure Griffin received a burial fitting of his station and welcome the opportunity to clear her family name.
In the distance, a hawk floated with effortless grace upon the current of wind, soaring over the dense forest, then out over the open waters. She wished for such freedom, to be able to leave her troubles behind.
Then she remembered her angry words to Alexander, her accusations that Griffin’s death was somehow his fault. She cringed at the unfairness of her attack. If she’d learned nothing else from their time together, it was that Alexander was far from the undisciplined rogue she’d initially believed him to be. His actions were honorable.
She remembered the times on their journey when he’d threatened her. In the end, he’d punished her with naught but tenderness.
Though a warrior, he was a man of integrity, loyalty, and honor. The strong bond of love between him and his brothers was undeniable. The respect the men gave Alexander was unprecedented. Yes, he had abducted her, but his actions were driven by his loyalty to his country. He never meant to offer her personal harm or wish her subjected to such tragedy.
After learning of her brother’s death, he’d not taken her to her chamber to leave her to struggle with her suffering alone; he’d understood in her time of grief, she would need the solace of the church. And when he’d asked her to wed, his offer of marriage was sincere.
Nichola splayed her hands over the cool, sturdy stone. She needed to apologize. Gathering her courage, she turned. And plowed headlong into a strong, warm chest.
Large hands caught her shoulders.
She fought to steady herself, expecting to see Alexander. Instead, she found herself gazing up into the tempered hazel eyes of Patrik.
Panic swamped her. So lost in her grief, she’d not considered the danger she’d placed herself in being alone.
He stared down at her, the coldness in his eyes leaving her further shaken. “I am sorry. It is hard to lose those you love.”
She nodded, wanting only to distance herself from him. “Thank you.” Nichola made to step from his embrace.
He held tight. “Alexander is not about?”
“No, he is . . .” She had no idea where he was. She’d fled the chapel hours ago only wanting escape.
A frown marred his brow. “It is not good for you to be out alone. Although my brothers and I tolerate your presence, I cannot vouch for some of the Scots within Lochshire Castle.”
Though his words were softly delivered, she understood the underlying threat. She would agree, at the moment, she definitely didn’t feel safe.
“I should be returning to my chamber,” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm, not wanting him aware of how his mere presence terrified her.
“I will escort you.” He released her shoulders, only to cup her elbow, his grip assuring her he would not take no for an answer.
So she allowed him to lead her to the turret and down the inky, torch-lit steps. Halfway down, his grip on her tightened. The premonition of him shoving her off balance to tumble down the rest of the way made her miss the next step. A scream wrapped in her throat.
Footsteps echoed from below. A guard rounded the corner.
Patrik’s other hand caught her shoulder as she started to fall.
“Sir Patrik, my lady,” the guard said as he passed.
“Are you well, my lady? You almost fell,” Patrik asked with maniacal politeness.
Her heart slammed against her chest. He’d almost killed her. Would have if not interrupted by the guard. “ I . . .”
“You need to rest,” Patrik said, saving her from a response.
Yes, it was one thing she desperately agreed upon. At the bottom, they walked out into the afternoon sunlight. Relief poured through her.
“What is wrong, my lady? You look terrified.” He hesitated, a sly look seeping onto his face. “Pray it is not of me.” Malice threaded his calm assurance. “I would seek naught but your safety. For it seems that you are the woman who has caught my brother’s eye.”
He knew he terrified her, savored her fear. “Alexander is a man with his own mind,” she said, holding back her cry for help. “I would be deluding myself to think that your brother’s eye is not caught by a comely woman on a routine basis.”
“But never before has he treated a woman the way he does you. Or consort with the enemy.”
People milled nearby, the day bright and warm with cheer. Inside, her body chilled.
“But the situation does not provide what it appears that Alexander would seek.”
Caught off guard, she gasped. “You know of Alexander’s request for my hand?”
His hazel eyes darkened to black. “Has he?” Fury backed his words.
“You did not know?”
He started forward with his hand upon her arm. “It is time you returned to your chamber. There is much to be done.”
A shudder ripped through Nichola. She stole a glance toward Patrik, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. Mary’s will, what had she done?
Chapter Fifteen
“All is well.” The guard’s call from the wall walk announcing that the keep was secure echoed faintly through the corridor.
Through an open window, Nichola glanced out to where the moon had eased into the sky, its silver light streaming across the loch with an iridescent glow.
A lover’s moon.
A fierce ache tightened around her chest. Life had taught her to be wary of men. Even having abducted her, Alexander had shown her time and again that he was a man she could count one. Could love. But how did one accept loving a man who should be by all rights her enemy?
At this moment, with grief crowding her mind, she was unsure of anything.
Though late, she couldn’t sleep. If she remained in bed, she would only relive her grief. And she needed to apologize to Alexander for her unwarranted attack on him in the chapel.
Nichola stared down the passageway to the door where a servant, earlier this night, had told her Alexander’s room lay. When she’d tried to find him earlier this evening, she’d been surprised to learn he’d left the castle. She’d not pressed as to where, but had returned to her chamber.
With the overly late hour, he would be abed. Once she’d apologized, she would leave. She hesitated, an unwanted thought creeping into her mind. What if he wasn’t in his room?
Or worse, what if he was with another woman?
She braced herself, unsure if after learning of her brother’s death, she could accept another emotional blow.
Please, God, if he has returned to the castle, let him be alone.
Please, God, if he has returned to the castle, let him be alone.
As she reached his door, the bells of matins announced the hour after midnight. Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath and knocked.
Silence answered, invaded only by the soft scuff of the night breeze.
She touched the pendant around her neck. Perhaps she hadn’t knocked loud enough? Mary’s will, what if Patrik found her outside Alexander’s chamber? Mayhap she should sneak back up to her room where she would be safe. But if she didn’t speak with Alexander this night, with the news of Wallace and the rebels upset, she was unsure when she would see him again. Her decision made, she knocked again.
At the insistent rap on his door, Alexander turned from where he stood before the hearth. He glared at the door. The thought of it being the servant wench he’d bedded before he’d ever met Nichola left him empty. He did not want another woman. He wanted Nichola.
Except she didn’t want him.
Since she’d fled the chapel, he’d kept his distance from her. She was right. His decision to abduct her might well have cost her brother his life.
Another knock sounded.
He stalked to the door, aware that if the situation were of grave urgency, one of his brothers would have burst within his chamber to deliver the news. Whoever dared interrupt him would soon regret their coming.
With a curse he jerked open the door, prepared to flay the simpleton who dared disrupt his solitude.
Dressed in a long, wheat-colored robe, her auburn hair unbound and cascading down her back, Nichola stood but inches away. A taper was in her hand illuminating her pale face, how her body slightly trembled and her wide, gray eyes staring up at him, unsure.
The string of oaths readied on his lips fell away. His blood heated as the robe hinted at curves he’d touched, the opaque material inviting his imagination to fill in what he couldn’t see.
He steadied himself. There could be many reasons she would come to him in the night, but after her charge this day, he doubted making love with him would be the foremost event on her mind.
With her belief he was responsible in part for her brother’s death, mayhap he should search her for a dagger. It would not surprise him if she’d come to carve out his heart. Except from her fragile expression, she needed not a weapon to destroy him.
“You should not be here,” Alexander said, wanting her nowhere else.
“I . . .” She glanced down the hall then back to him, her desperation and hurt carved in her expression.
“Go back to your room,” he said, his voice harsh. He didn’t need her here, with her emotions too easy for him to read, and with him wanting her with his every breath.
She angled her chin in a stubborn tilt that made him insane to have her. “I will. After I have said what I came to say.”
For his own sanity, he should have shut the door in her face then. With her close enough to touch and her scent filling his every breath, one of them needed an ounce of common sense. Except even with her stubborn pride guiding her every movement, she appeared as if she would break. God help him. Alexander opened the door wider.
She glided her tongue over her lower lip with a nervous slide. Then she entered.
Alexander’s grip on the door tightened, unsure if he should close it or leave it open to prevent him from doing something foolish like kiss her. Bedamned. He wasn’t an untried lad. They would talk. He would keep his distance. Once whatever matters she’d come for were settled, she would leave. He closed the door behind her with a soft but firm snap.
Nichola turned to face him.
With the candlelight flickering over her, he could make out her stance, tall and proud, her full lips quivering, and her gaze blurred by pain. When she held out her hand to him, his defenses shattered.
Damning himself, Alexander crossed to her and drew her into his arms. He held her as she trembled.
“I am sorry,” he whispered and kissed her brow.
“It is not your fault.” She lifted her head, her eyes watching him with sincere trust, an expression he’d never expected to see. Especially now.
“Nichola—”
“No,” she said, her breath warm against his neck. “I was wrong to accuse you of my brother’s death.” She inhaled deeply, the cost of her apology easy to read. “I was angry and I am sorry.”
As was he. He cupped her chin with his hands. “If I had known . . .”
“How could you have? We have no control over one’s fate.”
“No, we do not.” If he hadn’t been convinced of that before, as he stared at her, grieving her loss, he would be assured of fate’s might. He stared at Nichola, her apology laying siege to the reasons he should leave her untouched. Her lower lip wavered, drawing his gaze. He remembered her taste, soft, warm, and destroying. His body hardened.
She raised her mouth to his.
He ached to taste her again. On a groan he gave into his need and claimed her mouth in a gentle kiss; slow, easy, wanting only to reassure Nichola he never meant her any harm.
Her immediate response ignited a fire all its own. When her hands reached up to wrap around his neck and draw him closer, he sank into the kiss as a dying man would seize a drink of water.
Alexander tangled his fingers in her hair. A soft, needy moan spilled from her mouth and the last of his control faded. His hands turned greedy, sliding down the silky skin of her neck, delighting in the feel and at her tremors with his every touch. His body throbbed as his hands skimmed across her skin to push away her robe and expose her chemise. In the candlelight, her soft swells translucent beneath her linen shift jutting proudly before him.
He lowered his head and devoured. He swirled his tongue around the hardening bud, the thin veil of cloth only heightening his desire.
On a whimper, she arched against him. “Alexander.”
Her sultry demand whispered through him. He suckled harder, sliding his hand to cup her other breast. She shivered against his intimate touch, and he glided his thumb in a teasing circle over her dusky tip.
Needing to see all of her, he caught the soft material and pushed her robe free. It dropped to the floor with a gentle swish. She stood before him, half exposed, the thin-linen shift beneath translucent in the flicker of firelight, where he’d laved her breasts damp and glistening for his return.
He froze. What was he doing? His body shook as he pulled himself away, his breathing ragged. “Nichola—”
“Make love with me, Alexander. Make me forget this day.” She pushed aside her linen shift until it, too, swirled to lay atop her robe. Naked, she stood before him, full breasts gleaming in the candlelight, the dark, auburn triangle at her apex tempting him into delightful insanity.
His hand automatically reached for her, wanting to hold the weight of her breasts, touch the sweet softness that he would never tire of. As if burned, he turned away.
“Alexander?”
He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to lay her on his bed and drive deep within her body.
Nichola’s hand touched his shoulder.
He rounded on her. “I want you, but not this way.” Damn this entire situation. Alexander reached down and grabbed her gown and robe. He shoved them in her hands. “Put them on.”
She stared at him with disbelief, her lips parted, slick with his kisses.
Fighting to steady his warring emotions, he cupped his hands over hers. “As much as I want you, it will not be as a balm for a loss.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this what you think my reason is?”
“Yes,” Alexander replied, speaking the single hardest word he’d ever said in his life. He wanted her, but if he took her now, he would use her sorrow to suit his own purpose. And he could never do that. Though he hadn’t always made the right decisions in life, he would here. “When we make love, you will do so with a clear mind.”
“I know what I am—”
“I can see your pain, the grief you wear like a badge. A grief you do not trust to share with me.” And that hurt the most. “Yet you ask for an intimacy as great. I may want you, but I will not take advantage of your vulnerability.”
Nichola glared at Alexander, unsure if she felt more like a fool or humiliated. Damn him! He was wrong. True, the loss of her brother had left her devastated, but she loved Alexander and needed him as well. Couldn’t he see that? Would she be here offering herself to him if she felt otherwise?
“If I wanted someone to take advantage of me,” she charged, “I could have found many willing men below.”
His eyes narrowed to a dangerous edge.
Good. If he was upset, more the better. They would be on equal ground. “Instead, I am here.” She softened her voice, needing him to understand. “It is you I want.” His skeptical gaze extinguished her desire. No, obviously he would never believe what she had to say this night.
Her body burned where he’d touched her, ached where he had not. Resisting the urge to scream her frustration, she jerked on her chemise. The fabric tore at her rough handling, but she ignored it. Then she tossed on her robe.
“You do not know what I am feeling.” But he would. Nichola stormed from the room. She’d thought when she went to apologize that she’d make a deranged part of her world right. Instead, it seemed she’d somehow misjudged that as well. Next time, he would have no doubts of her claim.
And there would be a next time.
On the practice field, Alexander lifted his blade. Sweat rolled down his face as he surged forward in his attack. His pent-up frustration over the past two days since Nichola had swept from his chamber backed the bite of his blade.
Aye, she’d not kept from his sight as he would have wished. Instead, she seemed determined that wherever he turned, he’d see her. And he’d noted the undaunted determination on her face, and her desire.
Except, he’d convinced himself that to take her now would be wrong. She only sought comfort. He swung his next blow with the force of his frustration.
“Certes!” Duncan twisted to the side and barely evaded the blow. He took another step back in the training field and angled his blade to deflect Alexander’s next swing. “You are fighting like a milk-fed maid.”
Alexander ignored his taunts, jibes his youngest brother used to sidetrack his focus. He thrust his sword forward then angled the blade to catch the hilt of his brother’s broadsword.
Metal scraped. With a quick jerk, he cast Duncan’s weapon from his hands.
Duncan’s stunned expression as he stood defenseless before him almost made Alexander laugh. Almost. If not torn between his loyalty toward the rebels and his need for Nichola, he would have enjoyed the moment. Instead, Alexander sheathed his sword, his heart aching.
“I have had enough for the day.” Alexander ignored Duncan’s curiosity at his curt comment, and Patrik and Seathan’s concerned stares as they stood nearby. Let them think what they’d like. With the runner sent back to Rothfield Castle to collect the ransom demand for Nichola, he’d been given but a few days reprieve from her inevitable departure. And the money would come of that he had no doubt.
Then she would leave.
He turned to find Nichola waiting on the boundaries of the practice field. God’s teeth, did the lass have a wish to drive him insane? Mayhap he should leave her barred within her chamber? It would serve them both well. But when she’d asked him to allow her to accompany him to his practice, he’d agreed.
Alexander strode to her.
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