Ravished (13 page)

          Still, the mystery
of her presence eluded his probing.  He’d gained no information from her
thrusting his tongue into her mouth, and yet, he could not resist claiming her
as his own, no matter what his brothers thought.

          The girl … she must
think him a monster.  He behaved as one, unthinking, demanding, rough and
intent on bedding her.  How much did she know of men’s ways?  Had she come to
him tonight merely to apologize?  It did not seem likely.  It seemed more a
covert act disguised with boldness, some intent to cause him ruin, though he
knew not the reason if that was the case.

          He didn’t want to
believe it, but he had to keep such thoughts present, else he would indeed risk
ruination.

          “My lord,” a
servant called from behind him, breathless from running up the stairs.

          Bronson faced him,
scowling at the interruption on his thoughts.  “What is it?” he asked tersely.

          The man stopped
before him, holding a missive.  “A messenger carried this, directing it to your
attention.”

          Bronson took it,
unrolling the parchment and angling it toward the torch light.

Lord Bronson Blackmore,

You have refused our
messengers and missives this week past.  This is my final offer for peaceable
negotiations.  I ask again, return the girl tonight.  Your failure to comply
will necessitate our clan to reclaim her by force.

Hugh McPherson, Laird of the Clan McPherson

          Bronson crumpled
the paper in his fist and threw it to the stone floor.  It was confirmed.  The
girl was, without doubt, a McPherson, but from the tone of the letter, they
thought he held her captive.  He could not fathom why they would think that,
unless she had been scheduled to report back to them and missed her
appointment.  It made sense.

          He was disgusted
with himself and their defenses for allowing a spy in their midst, for allowing
lust to overrule his senses.  He did not know why the McPhersons would do this,
nor did he care.

          He would not easily
give her up.  Now that the time had come that he could, and should, he was
loath to release her from his sight.  What’s more, what information had she
gleaned from their household?  No, it would not do to give her over to them and
spill their secrets.  “Where is Lord Montague?” he asked the waiting servant.

          The man blanched at
Bronson’s black look, looking as though he would bolt, or faint, at any
moment.  “He … he is g-gone, my lord.”

          “What?” Bronson
roared, feeling blinding panic clutch his chest in a vice.  “Where has he
gone?” he demanded angrily, annoyed that the man didn’t immediately respond.

          The servant blinked
rapidly, clutching his heart.  “He … he is with your brothers, my lord.  They
ventured to
The Bristle Boar
an hour past….”

          Bronson listened no
more—there was no need to once their destination had spilled from the man’s
lips.  He rushed past the gaping servant down the stairs leading into the
castle, impotent fury building inside him with every ground eating stride.  He
tried not to think of what they had done, what danger they were in … what
danger Alex was in from every direction.  He strode through the belly of the
castle and out to the grounds where he saddled his horse himself, too impatient
to wait for a groomsman.  Through every terse move, every breath, the image of
them moving closer to doom bade his mind roil with frustration and anger.

          There was only one
reason he could think of why Gray and Rafael would tow Alex off and go to
The
Bristle Boar
at this hour.  He knew his brothers, knew they’d seen him with
Alex.  He was not grateful for their interference, and would not divulge his
knowledge to them.  It should be enough that his life was his own, not theirs,
but it was not.

          Bronson seethed
with outrage and the unwitting error of their course.  He prayed he would get
to them in time to prevent their folly.

          If the McPhersons
did not set upon them as they left and slaughter the lot of them, Bronson would
strangle his brothers when he arrived at the alehouse.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

          Rafael and Gray
tossed their arms to the gay sounds of music and merrymaking around them,
singing along with a bawdy tune, sloshing their mugs as they danced in their
chairs and tightened their arms around wenches kissing each one’s neck and
chest.  Every now and then they would pinch the backside of a passing maid to
catch her attention and refill their mugs.  Alex had never seen such out and
out decadence and mingling of the classes.  If she wasn’t so horrified, she
might have been impressed that their differences in stature made no difference
at all.

          As it was, she
could hardly think or breathe for the scent of unwashed men, stale beer, and a
badly smoking fire that left a haze through the room that trapped the repulsive
odors exquisitely.

          Catching her ill
look, Gray smiled and asked, “Alex, have you not found a wench to your liking? 
If you worry for coin, do not.  It is my treat this night.”

          Alex shook her
head, fighting the horror climbing over her.  She’d tried very hard
not
to look at her surroundings. 
The Bristle Boar
was stuffed as a
Christmas goose with men drinking and groping eager women, whose dresses were
slashed and trimmed to expose their breasts.  On some of the more brazen maids,
she’d even spied the dusky hue of their nipples.  She expected any moment to
see one lift her skirts and expose the lot of them.

          Her face surely
deepened to three shades of red, her embarrassment ran so deep.

          “You dawdle
overmuch, young Alex.  Surely you would enjoy a fire-haired maiden?  All men
do,” Rafael said, grinning as he dropped his mug and grabbed a passing
barmaid.  “Come, my lovely maiden.  How fair you this even?”

          The redhead made no
attempt to pull free, but gave him a saucy smile, ignoring the scowl from the
wench on his lap.  “Right fine, milord.  ‘Ave you somethin’ you wish o’ me?”

          “Aye, lovely, a
matter of grave importance,” Rafael said, his voice dropping as he glanced at
Alex.  “I’ve a youngling in need of rescue of his immortal soul.  Might you be
up to a challenge?”

          Alex swallowed hard
as the woman’s gaze crept to her and climbed her, up and down, particularly
lingering on her groin.  “Aye, I can be—fer a price.”

          Gray grinned at
her, setting his mug down as he dug into a pouch at his side.  “But of course,
fair maiden.”  He fished some gold out and laid it on the table.  “I trust this
will do.”

          The redhead’s eyes
widened with lust.  She took the coin up, tucking it into her bodice as she
sauntered around the table to where Alex sat.  The girl sat on Alex’s lap
without prompting, threw her arms around her neck, and planted a messy, wet
kiss on her lips.

          Alex sputtered and
pushed the girl back.  The girl gave her a confused look, then looked back at
the brothers.  “What the ‘ell?  ‘E got somethin’ wrong wit ‘im?”

          “The poor lad has
never had his coddles waxed.  You’ll be his first.  A special honor, it is, to
be sure.  I trust you can be … gentle?” Gray asked with a wink and a smirk.

          “We’ve paid for a
room upstairs—the usual,” Rafael said, giving her directions to it.

          The girl pulled
Alex up, holding her arm with unnatural strength as she guided her up the
stairs to the rooms above.  Alex felt a mounting dread crawling through her
mind.  The girl seemed eager to perform her duty and keep the coin.

          They were inside
the room before Alex scarce knew what happened.  A bed built with gnarled,
aging wood stood against one corner.  A small table stood beside it, holding a
crock of some substance and a flickering candle.  It was a dark room—mayhap the
girl would never notice….

          The maid closed the
door behind her, startling Alex from her morbid stillness.  Alex whirled
around, faced with the smiling bawd.

          “Do ye prefer your
gels bare arsed or clothed, milord?”

          Removing her
clothes would give her more time, but Alex simply could not bear the thought of
looking on a naked woman and having her hands on her as well.  “Clothed,” she
said hoarsely.

          She advanced on
Alex, swaying her hips.

          “W-what is it
you’re called?” Alex asked, stalling, backing away.

          “Everyone calls me
Red, milord.  Yer a true gentleman fer askin’ me name.  Now,” ---she pushed on
Alex’s chest, upsetting her balance—“sit here.”  Alex fell back, collapsing on
the bed.  She struggled back upright, swallowing convulsively.

          “We need a bit o’
grease for this, lovey,” she murmured as she knelt between Alex’s knees and
picked up the jar from the bedside table.  A whiff of pungent, solidified oil
assailed her nostrils as the girl passed it over her knees and dipped two
fingers inside, scooping out the lubrication.  She planted her other hand on
Alex’s thigh, sliding it up toward where her cock should be.

          Self-preservation
kicked to the forefront.  Alex put her hand over the woman’s, holding it
still.  “Please, madam, I am not prepared,” she said, her voice just shy of a
shriek.

          Red grinned,
looking unperturbed.  “Ye will be when I slick this on yer manroot.”

          The door suddenly
slammed open like it had been hit by a gale wind.  Bronson stormed in as if
he’d been thrown, and looked around the room with fury gleaming in his eyes. 
The girl jumped to her feet, gaping at Bronson.  Alex’s jaw dropped.

          Bronson pointed at
the woman.  “You, out.”

          Red scurried past
him with the cringing movement of someone expecting a beating.  Bronson ignored
the woman, and slammed the door shut behind her as she left, turning the lock
on the door before facing Alex yet again.

          Alex’s relief at
being rescued from certain exposure was short lived as Bronson crossed the room
in two short, swift strides, grasped her arms, and hauled her onto her feet. 
Her body bounded against his chest, stilled by the strength of his hands and
the steel of his grip.  Her breath caught in her lungs at his smoky, angry
look.  He gave her a slight shake as she continued to gape up at him.

          “What mean you by
coming here?” he asked, his eyes dark and unforgiving.  “Was this mine
brothers’ idea or your own?”

          Through strength of
will she’d not known she possessed, Alex fought back the rising tide of fright
and excitement and found her voice.  “’Twas your brothers, my lor—Bronson,” she
stammered.

          “Are you not over
young to know the pleasures of the flesh?”  His hands tightened on her arms. 
His jaw clenched with his anger, making her ache in secret places as she
followed the hard line to his sensual lips.  She feared he would kiss her—she
feared he would not.  She almost preferred a beating to this everlasting torment
and the indecision that gripped her whenever he was near.  Her body responded
to his presence as though it possessed a separate mind, willing and eager to
know the full extent of these sins of the flesh.

          Alex shook her
head, trying to make sense of him and the direction his thoughts lay.  Why
would he be angry at her for his brother’s action, unless he truly wanted to
possess her himself.  The thought, which should have dismayed her, thrilled her
instead.  “Nay.  I am full grown.  You know this.”

          “I know nothing but
what you tell me,” he bit out as if pained.

          “’Tis the truth. 
Your brothers brought me here so that I would … that I could….”  Certes, she
could not tell him they sought to assuage her appetite for his sex.

          “They think you aim
to seduce me,” he said with a growl, his voice dropping to a husky murmur that
rubbed along her nerves.  “Do you?”

          “Nay,” she
whispered, flushing with the heat of his eyes as he dragged his gaze down her
face and throat.  Her breasts swelled as her desire soared.  The bindings had
never before felt so painful.

          “Whether you willed
it or no, you have succeeded,” he said, anger heating his voice.  He bent his
head and covered her lips, plunging her into instant, desperate hunger.

          Her mouth opened of
its own accord, allowing him inside, sucking his tongue as it plunged deep into
her mouth.  He groaned into her, tasting her essence even as she drank his with
abandon.  He stole her breath, her will to fight.  The sanity of her mind
burned away under the molten glide of his tongue in and out of her mouth.  She
was mad, mad to allow this, to not struggle in his arms and break away.