Rexanne Becnel (21 page)

Her motivation had at least been pure, she reminded herself. Yet the man who held her so close seemed perversely unaffected by her clever plan. She’d been so certain that the loss of her virginity would destroy his selfish plot. But he seemed as ready as ever to proceed. Was he a complete madman?

She swiftly wiped away her tears with one hand while clinging to the horse’s mane with the other. She was without any sort of plan as the destrier’s long strides carried them nearer and nearer the mainland. When they galloped up onto the hard-packed shore, she only knew that she must continue to struggle against Rylan Kempe no matter what happened. No matter how weary she became or frustrated or downcast, she must never relent. To go along with his fiendish plot was to give herself up forever, and she would never do that. Never.

Rylan straightened in the saddle as he brought the big horse to a stiff-legged halt. But he kept his arm wrapped possessively around her, pulling her upright against him as well.

“Shall you be more cooperative now?” he asked in a low voice tinged with arrogance.

Though Joanna flinched at the silky resonance near her ear, she forced herself to remain calm. “Do not count upon it,” she replied in her most contemptuous tone. “I shall be polite, if you so demand. I’ll even cook your meals and mend your stockings—after all, I
am
a paragon of wifely virtue.” Then she turned a scathing look upon him. “But cooperate in this mad scheme of yours? Hah! If I must trumpet my … my impure state to the entire world, so be it—”

“Don’t be a little fool! That will gain you naught!” His dark eyes bored into hers across the span of mere inches.

Joanna’s eyes darkened as well under his intense scrutiny and for a moment her resolve faltered. Though his eyes glittered now with anger, the heat within them was not unlike the passion she’d seen in them before. Then, even as she watched, she saw his eyes deepen almost to black and a fire leap somewhere within them.

His face lowered and for the space of two heartbeats her mind closed against all the reasons she must avoid his descending mouth. But before their lips could meet he groaned and swiftly pulled back. Before she could prevent it, a small gasp of disappointment escaped her.

As faint as it was, Joanna knew at once he’d heard the sound. His gaze moved from her eyes to her lips and then back again. Stifling a groan of dismay, she quickly averted her face, but she knew the damage was done. Despite her resolve she’d come perilously close to kissing him, and she knew only too well where that could lead.

The destrier pawed at the ground with one forefoot then tossed its head twice, pulling Rylan against Joanna. She heard a muttered curse. Then with a flick of Rylan’s wrist the horse wheeled about and they started south down the beach.

“This is the wrong way,” Joanna could not help but cry. She knew he had no intention to return her to St. Theresa’s, but this southerly route suddenly seemed so final. “The wrong way,” she repeated in a voice that threatened to fail her.

Rylan did not respond. He only sat behind her, hard and stiff, never yielding an inch as the destrier’s long strides put more and more distance between her and the only home she knew.

They rode without stopping until well past noontide. The sun beat heavily upon them and the countryside fairly steamed as the soaked earth slowly dried out. They followed the coast until in the distance the smoke from numerous hearths signaled a village ahead. Again, without a word to her, Rylan guided the horse up a shallow outfall of water. The animal picked its way carefully up the beck, through a wet grassland, and then up onto a barely discernible track that followed the course of the water.

It was cooler in the shade of the towering beeches that lined the beck, and Joanna felt an undeniable relief. Between the hot summer sun and the uncomfortable warmth radiating from Rylan’s body pressed up against hers, she was damp with perspiration. Still, she could take little delight from the cool forest. With every stride, with every change of scenery she was being dragged ever farther from St. Theresa’s. With every passing minute he drew her relentlessly toward a future she refused to accept.

“I’m tired. And thirsty,” she bit out as the horse splashed across a shallow span of water toward a clearer trail on the far bank.

“We’ll stop soon,” he replied, urging the horse on.

“There’s no reason not to stop here,” she persisted. But when she tried to twist loose from his arms, he tightened his grasp.

“Do not provoke me, Joanna,” he growled in her ear. “We shall stop soon enough, when that village is sufficiently behind us. Until then I caution you to be quiet. And don’t squirm,” he added in an oddly strained tone.

Joanna, however, did not dwell on his tone. She was too uncomfortable herself to be concerned with his comfort. “I am parched from the heat and numb from sitting so long.” Once more she wriggled, trying to ease the prickly numbness in her derriere.

“Christ and bedamned!” he exploded. In a trifling moment he hauled the horse to a stop, then abruptly slid backward over the animal’s rump. Joanna gazed down at him in surprise, unable to fathom his sudden change of heart. Then just as quickly she realized that she was on the horse without him. Escape was within her reach. Her hand stole swiftly to the slackened reins but Rylan, unfortunately, was not so distracted as to overlook what she was doing. With a quick tug at her nearest ankle he threw her off balance. As she toppled from the high saddle, he caught her with an arm around her back and one beneath her knees.

“What ho, my peaceful little dove. Could it be you plot such violence as to abscond with my favorite steed?” He smirked at her and gave her a little toss so that she gasped and clutched at his neck. “But you would not do that, would you?”

“I would see you in hell—” Joanna broke off her blasphemous words and tried to wriggle free. But Rylan held her closer until she could hardly breathe. His face, however, was devoid of any humor, and his gaze burned hot as he stared at her.

“’Tis just such squirming I warned you of. Unless you would provoke me to—”

It was his turn to break off, but Joanna understood his meaning at once. Her eyes widened in consternation as she realized just
how
she provoked him.

His lips lifted in a parody of a smile. “I see you understand. Good. Now, have your drink of water,” he said as he stood her upright. But before he released her he held her firm, frowning as all the while a muscle moved in his cheek. “I warn you not to attempt to escape me again, Joanna. I am only a man, and as such am subject to the failings of all men.” Then with a meaningful look, he let loose her arms, turned on his heel, and stalked away from her.

Joanna was sorely perplexed as she stooped beside the sparkling beck and splashed the refreshing water onto her arms and neck. It was not Rylan’s words that confused her, for she feared she knew precisely what he meant. Rather, it was her own perverse reaction that troubled her. He threatened her with his virile domination and instead of fear coiling in her stomach, it was something else entirely. Her heart pounded, her mouth was dry, and the fine hairs on her neck lifted. Yet it was not fear or anger that caused those responses. It was anticipation that had her atremble, and a fitful yearning that was wholly improper.

Joanna brought a palmful of water to cool her face and brow, although the heat that disturbed her most was not centered there. Once again she was beset by the unwelcome memory of their hours together in that cottage. That holy place!

She bit down on her lower lip to still its trembling then sternly blinked back her shameful tears. She, who had been so proud, was now truly brought low. Only by sincere prayer and honest repentance could she ever redeem herself.

And yet honest repentance eluded her most unfairly. During their endless morning ride she’d tried vainly to pray for forgiveness, but always she’d been undone by the remembered feel of his hands on her. Of his body pressing down upon hers. Of the exquisite way he’d taken—

Joanna let out a short strangled cry. When Rylan turned a sharp glance on her, she quickly splashed another handful of water on her face, unmindful that she wet her long trailing hair and the bodice of her gown. She drank deeply of the refreshing water, then drank again. Anything to avoid facing the man who now rose from getting his own drink. When he straightened up, still watching her, she averted her face, letting her hair fall like a curtain between them.

“Let us be on our way. Come, I’ll help you to mount.”

Though Joanna wished more than anything to avoid rejoining him upon his destrier, as she sent a desperate glance around the dense woodland, she knew escape was out of the question. Yet as she moved reluctantly nearer him, she could not prevent a last stab at reasoning with him.

“I don’t understand what you seek to gain by abducting me this way.” She stopped just beyond the reach of his arms and gave him an accusing stare. “My value as a bride is lost.” Her face colored but she went on. “There is nothing for it but to release me.”

He stared at her steadily though his face was devoid of all emotion. “Your value as a bride is not so lost as you might think. And as for releasing you …” He smiled faintly, then looked down at the twig he held in his hand. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, milady. Honor demands—”

“Oh! Do not speak to me of honor when you have already proven yourself without the least honor whatsoever!” She sent him a withering glare then stood straighter and lifted her chin to a haughty angle. “Let us be on our way, Lord Black Heart!”

She marched past him to the horse, ignoring the animal’s startled sidestep and flattened ears. “Come along then,” she said sarcastically, still glowering at her beastly captor.

“Watch out—” In an instant he yanked her to him and out of reach of the horse’s bared teeth.

“Let me go, you horrid man!”

“If I released you every time you demanded it, you would be lost, drowned, or else trampled by now,” he muttered as he continued to hold her before him. “’Tis clear you need someone to keep you sound of limb.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t you!” she cried furiously. “Before you made your unwelcome entrance into my life I had no need to fear any threats to my limbs!”

“No, of course not. You were such a meek and mild little dove that you had nothing to fear from anyone, or so you choose to believe. However, you have proven yourself to be more falcon than dove.” He jerked her against him. “More sinner than saint.”

“Oh!” Joanna gasped in sharp denial and shoved at his chest in outrage. “’Tis you who are sinful and … and wicked—”

Her feeble tirade against him was halted by the sudden crashing thunder of hooves. She hardly had time to think before Rylan yanked his sword out and thrust her toward the still-skittish horse. But they had no time to mount. Even had they managed to get on the destrier, they would still have been trapped, for a group of uniformed riders swept into the little clearing and in an instant they were surrounded.

“What ho!” one man said with a gloating leer. “You sport black, white, and red, the colors of Blaecston. Name yourselves.”

Joanna’s heart thundered in fear. These men clearly had the upper hand, and though they recognized Rylan’s colors, they seemed very little impressed by them. But Rylan seemed equally unimpressed by the unfavorable odds. Joanna felt the tension in his arm, but his voice was cool and low.

“You sport the colors of John Lackland. Shall you name yourself as well?”

The other riders darted glances toward their leader as they awaited his answer to such a fearless response. But though the fellow’s eyes narrowed, he held any anger well in check.

“Bless my soul, but if it ain’t Lord Blaecston hisself. And as unwise with his quick tongue as ever.” He leaned back in his saddle and smirked. “What do you so far from home with no guard but only this wench?” Then he gave a bawdy wink. “’E likely don’t share with ’is own men. But ’e’ll share with us, I warrant you that.”

He moved as if to dismount, but Rylan’s menacingly raised sword point slowed him.

“Touch her and you’ll lose the hand that does the deed.”

There was an ugly silence. Joanna was suddenly sickened as she realized the man’s intent. She clung to Rylan’s arm as if it were her only salvation even as she recognized the hopelessness of their circumstances. But Rylan was clearly not resigned to their situation.

“You will have to kill me to get to her, and though you think now there would be none to know, it will not take long for the truth to be out. Your king will hardly thank you when the wrath of his barons comes down hard upon him for the murder of one of their own. He will be forced by them to mete out a harsh punishment in order to assuage their fury.” He gave the now-silent soldiers a faint, icy smile. “I suggest you all think on just who among you shall take the blame before you raise weapons against a lord of the realm.”

The nervous shifting of several men in their saddles gave mute testimony to the effectiveness of his words, and Joanna felt a tiny glimmer of hope. But the captain of the group was reluctant to back down so easily.

“King John may not hold with killin’ one o’ his lords—no matter that the bloke speaks treason—but I wager ’e’ll not bother hisself about a little sport with a comely maid such as this one.”

“Try it and I vow it shall be the last act of your life,” Rylan stated without inflection.

“Damnation, but it ain’t like she’s a noblewoman,” the captain snapped in frustration. Then his gaze focused more closely on Joanna, taking in her plain priory garb. His eyes narrowed. “Who are you, girl? Give me your name.”

Joanna glanced uneasily from the captain to Rylan. She felt Rylan grow even more tense, but she realized her true identity was the only protection she had. If she convinced them she was a noblewoman, they would not dare touch her.

“I am Joanna. Lady Joanna Preston.”

The captain let out a loud burst of laughter at that announcement. “Lady Joanna of Oxwich? By God, what a stroke of good fortune!” At once he dismounted and swept her a wide bow. At her look of surprise he straightened. “King John sends ’is greetings and bids you join ’is court. We were on our way to St. Theresa’s Priory to fetch you when we came upon you here.”