Rexanne Becnel (9 page)

“I do not expect a maid to understand the complexities of state,” he clipped out.

“Oh, but I understand very well, and this has nothing to do with the ‘complexities of state.’ Like most men of your ilk, you hide your greed and cruelty beneath the claim of a greater good. Only those of us who suffer for it know the truth!” Once more her elbow found his midriff, but before she could feel the least satisfaction for it he jerked her hard against him.

“Have a care, mistress, or else you may find yourself tied upon a packhorse, hind end uppermost as we enter Blaecston Castle.”

Oh, how Joanna wished to poke him once again, for it was clear it angered him enormously. But that very anger of his gave her caution. She did not doubt his threat for a moment. A man who would kidnap an innocent woman from a priory was capable of anything, and though she hated to accede to even the mildest of his demands, she knew that in this case, at least, she must.

“You are holding me too tight,” she muttered, facing obdurately into the unrelenting rain.

His arm slackened a bit, but before she could rejoice in her meager victory, his hand splayed wide open at her waist so that she could feel the firm pressure of each of his separate fingers.

“I can be very accommodating, Lady Joanna. As gallant and courtly as the next man.” His hand slid slowly up her stomach until his thumb just touched the underside of her breasts, and she gasped at the intimacy of his touch. Then he bent nearer until his lips almost touched her ear. “But cross me and you will find me to be a veritable devil.” He paused as if to let his words sink in, then relaxed his hand on her waist. “I suggest you settle back for the ride, milady. For you and I have many hours yet to spend in one another’s company.”

With heart pounding and her breath shallow and fast, Joanna could do nothing but comply. But she fervently prayed that God would smite him with a bolt of lightning from above!

They rode well into the night. Although Joanna was angry and scared, and her every muscle ached with fatigue, she did not say one word to her hated captor. They rode in silence, moving together in rhythm to the destrier’s tireless gait. They shared the cape—and each other’s body heat—but nothing else. Joanna’s thoughts were dark and bitter, unlike his, which she was certain were smug and gloating. She imagined the horse rearing and dumping him off so that she might ride away. She pictured his men turning on him in anger that he could treat a woman so terribly. She even envisioned that she might pull his own sword on him—that she could thrust it through his black heart. Then she immediately regretted that last wicked thought.
Thou shalt not kill,
the commandment rose in her mind. She knew her vengeful thoughts were still a sin, no matter how wretchedly he treated her, but that knowledge only fired her anger higher. Was she denied even that meager outlet for her frustration?

By the time they stopped, the rain had ceased and the air was still. Great puddles glinted in the wan moonlight which broke through the high clouds, and all around them she heard the unsteady dripping from the trees.

“A brief rest, my boys. Then up before light. I would make Blaecston before sunset tomorrow,” Rylan said as he loosened the cloak from around them. When he flung it back Joanna leaned away from him, dismayed anew by the intimacy of their long ride. Her every muscle was stiff and sore, but she was not about to reveal as much to him.

“Allow me,” he said as he released the reins. Then before she could respond, he caught her about the waist and lowered her to the ground.

If she could have, Joanna would have run off right then. After all, she had no other real plan for making good her escape from her hard-hearted captor. But she had not counted on the effects of the long ride. When she reached the ground, her legs nearly folded beneath her. Had Rylan not lifted his leg over the horse’s withers and slid down to steady her, she would have collapsed in the mud.

“I’ve got you,” he said as one of his arms encircled her waist. “Don’t worry, you’ll be all right in a minute. Just walk a little ways with me.”

“I don’t need any help from you!” she snapped, trying to jerk out of his too-familiar embrace.

“’Tis clear you do, Lady Joanna, so why not be gracious and accept it?” He urged her forward, forcing her to limp along on legs that were at once both painfully sensitive and awkwardly numb. They walked across a dark clearing toward the low shadows of a clump of elder shrubs, him with an arm snug around her waist and her half leaning on him despite her best effort not to. All about them the other men dismounted and prepared their meager camp. The horses were hobbled so that they could graze and yet not wander off. The huge blond man drew a stash of kindling from one of the packs and swiftly started a small fire with the dry wood. Bread, cheese, raisins, almonds, and several flasks of wine appeared, and by the time Joanna was able to walk unassisted, the camp was very well organized.

These men had spent many a night in the field together, she realized, feeling even more glum than before. They were very likely Sir Rylan’s best men, and she was a fool to think even one of them might feel enough pity for her to help her escape. No, she was completely on her own in that.

“Better?” Rylan asked when she pulled away from him.

“Better?” she mocked bitterly. “Hardly. But if you mean ‘can I walk alone?’ it’s clear I can.” She faced him across the darkness. “Now what?”

Though she could barely see him, Joanna heard the amusement in his voice. “Now we eat and sleep. Come along.”

“Wait!” Joanna squeaked as he came toward her. She was afraid all over again. “Where am I to sleep—where will you be?”

“I’ll be right beside you, Joanna. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Safe!” she cried, furious at his deliberate taunt. “I’d be safer in a nest of vipers than ever I could be with the likes of you!”

“You wound me.” He laughed. Then he caught her by the arm and she knew he would not be crossed in this matter. Yet still she resisted.

“Wait! I—I need to be alone.”

“No.” He pulled her along, back toward the small campsite.

“But … But you don’t understand. I have to—I mean—”

“Oh.” He halted when he finally understood. “Yes. Well …” He looked around, then gestured. “Those bushes. I’ll wait for you here.”

Joanna jerked her arm angrily from his slackened hold. He was the vilest, most disgusting man that had ever lived! To make her plead and explain to him that she needed to—to have some privacy! What did he think she was, some clay doll with no feelings or needs of her own?

“Not too far,” he warned as she stormed away from him.

“Not too far,” she muttered under her breath. Had he no shred of decency within him at all that he would deny her some seclusion under the circumstances? But the answer to that was more than obvious. He was clearly possessed of no morals whatsoever. He was selfish—and a bully of the worst sort.

She stooped behind what she thought must be a thicket of hollies, judging by the prickly leaves she felt with her hand, then squinted back toward him. The small flames of the campfire cast only a meager light in the clearing, but it was enough to silhouette him. He was watching for her, but then the giant blond—Kell—came up to him, and Rylan was momentarily distracted.

“Hornsea is beyond the next hill,” she heard the man say.

“Then we are best hidden here,” Rylan replied. “The sheriff there wavers yet between King John and the Yorkshire barons. We’ll skirt the town before dawn.”

They continued in low murmurs, but Joanna heard no more. She was too elated by what she’d overheard. If she could only get to this town. Perhaps she could appeal to this sheriff at Hornsea for help.

She crouched down and looked stealthily around her, straining all her senses to find some escape. The air was cool and damp, redolent of leaves and forest mold. Dripping still sounded, giving the woods an unusual liveliness for such a late hour. Then, far off in the distance, she heard a rushing sound, not the wind but … but the sea. They were paralleling the coast and still near the sea. If she could just get away, she was certain she could find her way home.

Joanna felt a jolt of confidence at that knowledge. She peeked carefully around the bush. He was still there, but now he was accepting a cup of wine from one of the other men. If she was going to flee it must be now, she told herself. It must be now.

Joanna pulled her skirts high and threw them over one arm. She had no care for decorum as she crept deeper into the woods, careful to keep the thick holly bushes between her and Rylan. A low-hanging cedar bough caught her full across the face, wetting her and tangling in her hair, but she stifled any cry of alarm or pain. She would most willingly suffer any hardship to escape him.

When she was deep enough into the woods that the trees nearly blocked any light from the campfire, she began to feel a glimmer of hope. She straightened up from her cramped crouch and took a shaky breath. Now what? she wondered as she stared into the darkness around her. Then she heard a furious curse, “Christ and bedamned!” and her indecision fled. To the sea, she thought wildly as she plunged on toward the distant sound of waves. To the sea! Anything to escape the godless heathen who pursued her!

Joanna did not get far. On the one hand she seemed to run forever—past the wet grasping branches of the forest understory, tripping over roots, stumbling through the pitch black unknown. Yet for all her efforts, the sounds of the sea seemed to get no closer. Then she heard the thunderous crashing of her pursuer, and her flight became even more panic-driven. She was completely unmindful of which direction she went, so long as he did not catch her. But it was all for naught. Like a giant cat, well able to stalk his quarry in the darkest night, he found her and, with one mighty lunge, caught her trailing skirt.

“No!” she screamed, even as she tripped and landed in the mud, skidding on her hands and knees.

“Yes,” he countered grimly. He grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet, then pulled her around to face him, holding her immobile with one unforgiving hand on each of her shoulders. “Understand this, woman. One more rash move like this and I will make you very sorry you ever crossed me.”

“I’m already very sorry! Sorry I ever laid eyes on such a vile, loathsome blackguard as you!” she screamed in utter frustration. Unable to shake off his steely grasp, she kicked at him, landing one sharp jab on his shin that hurt her foot as much as it probably hurt him. But that only increased his ire, for with an indecipherable oath he lifted her up and flung her over his shoulder.

The breath left Joanna with a hard grunt as his solid shoulder thrust into her stomach. When he lurched around, then started forward at an angry, ground-eating pace, she could only hang there, upside down and totally disoriented with her hair streaming down to blind her.

“Let me down!” she cried when she caught her breath. She pounded furiously against his back, kicking and twisting though she feared to be dropped upon her head.

“Be still!” he thundered, then punctuated his words with a sharp slap on her derriere.

If she had been angry before, that humiliating gesture positively undid her. With a determination borne of murderous outrage, Joanna found the projecting hilt of his sword and yanked it partially from its scabbard. At once she was flopped upright. As the sword fell from her startled fingers, he slid her down in front of him, sandwiching her arms between them.

“I warned you,” he growled in a voice black with menace.

“Another threat?” she sneered, although she was shaking with fear. “What worse can you do that you have not
already
done? Perhaps you shall beat me now,” she spat out contemptuously as she struggled against his grasp.

“By damn but I am sorely tempted!”

Joanna gasped in fear at the dangerous threat in his low voice. She suddenly regretted her foolish effort to escape him, for it seemed he would indeed punish her cruelly for it. She strained back from him, but her breasts still pressed against his chest. She stared up at his darkened face, truly frightened now for what he might do.

“I doubt a beating would do any more than intensify your resolve,” he continued. Then his gaze slid down to her mouth and a slight grin lifted his lips. “So fair and yet so stubborn. But perhaps there is a better way to prove to you the futility of fighting me.”

Without warning his hands pulled her higher so that her toes barely touched the ground and she was hopelessly off-balance. In the same motion he bent down and before she even understood what he was about, his mouth had captured her own.

No! her mind cried out in silent dissent. But it was far too late to stop him. Like the marauding Vandal she had compared him to, he swooped down upon her and carried her away in that kiss, totally impervious to her feeble opposition.

Terror and fury fought impotently for supremacy as he pressed his kiss upon her. His body was hard and unyielding as he bent her backward in his arms, pressing his advantage unmercifully. His lips moved over hers intimately, dominating her and causing her head to spin. His tongue crept out to slide along the clenched seam of her lips. Then one of his hands moved down to cup her derriere and when she gasped in shock, his tongue delved deeply into the recesses of her mouth.

It was that which was her undoing. Fear and anger had been sufficient emotions to steel her to his unwelcome advances. But the unexpected stroke of his tongue within her mouth sent those emotions skittering off into a thousand different directions. She was under a new form of siege, one she had absolutely no knowledge of—and no defense against—and she did not know what to do. She was not aware that his grip on her changed. She was wholly unconscious of the softening of his lips and the new awareness that went through him. She only knew that no one had ever kissed her before and that now she understood about Winna.

His mouth slanted across hers, fiercely seeking a new reaction from her. His tongue slid in and then out, caressing her sensitive inner lips in the most sensuous manner imaginable. No longer fighting him, Joanna accepted the exquisite stroke in a daze as all her senses began to clamor. Some remnant bit of caution warned her, yet that tiny voice could not begin to compete with the myriad sensations that besieged her. Her heart thundered; her blood rushed to her head at a dizzying rate, then seemed immediately to rush away to settle somewhere in her lower stomach. Warmth radiated up through her and a sudden sensitivity overwhelmed her. In an instant she was acutely aware of every place he touched her, and a new form of fear took root in her.