Savage Cinderella (3 page)

He moved to touch the spot on his head that
felt like it was on fire and flinched, unable to reach his target.
His hands were tied to the bedposts, tight leather straps allowing
for only a few inches of movement in any direction. His foot was
splinted and wrapped in a sheet that was secured to the iron posts
and fashioned as a sling, elevating the throbbing limb. Panicked by
his confinement, he struggled, only to fall back in agonizing pain.
A bolt of hot lightning seared in a line straight from his head to
his right ankle.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't
tie me up like this! Who are you?" Fear and pain held him strung
tight with anger. Nothing in his twenty-three years had prepared
him for this.

The girl stiffened but didn't answer his
questions. He took in a deep breath and released it slowly. I have
to clear my mind, he reasoned against the haze that closed in on
him again and threatened to pull him under. A few more deep breaths
calmed his nerves and eased the dizzying nausea. If she wanted him
dead, she would have left him out in the woods.

The fall...yes, that was it...he fell. Taking
stock of his injuries, he grimaced. Worse still, under all the
blankets, he was naked. "What have you done with my clothes?" he
asked calmly, forcing the annoyance out of his tone.

After a moment's silence, a soft voice spoke
from the shadows. "They were wet. You could freeze to death
sleeping in wet clothes."

Her voice was soft and sweet but the vacant
tone and the odd accent left him hollow. Who was this girl and
where had she come from?

"Why did you tie me up? I won't hurt you. I
give you my word." When she didn’t respond and he could think of
nothing more to plead his case, Justin remained silent. He stared
up at the decaying rafters while he struggled to stay focused. It
took all his effort to control the shock and bone-deep chill that
had his limbs trembling painfully.

The small voice, sharp and angry, broke the
darkness. "Like the men of our government gave their word to the
native Indians? Or maybe it’s like the serpent’s promise to Eve in
the garden.” Her tirade halted as she looked away. “I’m
sorry...I...“

“
If you feel that way, why
did you help me?” Justin interrupted, pain and frustration igniting
his annoyance.

She stared at him for a long moment and then
looked toward the fire again, her eyes distant. “If I can stop one
heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.”

Justin lifted his head slowly in surprise. He
considered her with new interest. He recognized the familiar words.
“If I can ease one life the aching, or cool the pain...”

The girl peered intently at him in the dim
light. She added the next line, anticipation growing in her voice,
“Or help one fainting robin unto his nest again...”

“
I shall not live in vain.”
Justin finished the poem, detecting a hint of amusement in the
curve of her lips.

“
You know Miss Emily
Dickinson.” Her face turned stony again. “I would not have imagined
a man would read her writings.” After a moment she added, “But just
because you recite poetry doesn’t mean I will untie
you.”

Whoever she was, she was not a simple
mountain person. She spoke with a clear and distinctly educated
vocabulary. Her use of words seemed almost too formal and her
speech had an awkward accent. More than her tone, the cadence of
her words bothered him. It was as if she had to force herself to
form the words properly—as if she didn’t speak often.

Justin ignored the questions that formed the
ongoing commentary in his mind and glared back at the ceiling “I
get it. You don’t trust me. Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t
either if I were you.”

Persuading this girl to open up was not going
to be easy. What could he say to reassure her? His eyes found hers
across the room. “I know I haven’t given you reason yet to trust
me, but I've not personally given you reason to distrust me
either."

She remained silent, apparently pondering the
logic and truth of his statement, observing him with a curious
glare. “Why did you come after me?” she asked after a moment.

“
I wanted your picture for
my magazine...” Justin hesitated and then smiled faintly into the
shadows, "and because I thought you looked beautiful in the stream
today.” He couldn’t see her response, but felt her become very
still. A long minute of silence made the air thick.

“
Would you like some
water?" she asked, her tone softening.

Gravel scratched his throat as he swallowed.
“That would be good. Thank you.”

After a few minutes hesitation, she rose
slowly, filled a dented tin cup with water from a rain barrel—which
was collecting steadily beneath a leak in the roof—and came to the
bedside, warily helping him to drink.

Every movement sent shocks of pain through
his head, but the water felt cool and soothing on his throat. He
studied her features, capturing the bright blue eyes that tilted up
slightly at the edges and now peered suspiciously down at him
beneath long, dark lashes. Her face was the shape of an upside-down
teardrop, her chin delicate beneath high cheekbones. Her cheeks
were touched with a rosy glow from the fire, and her plump lips
pursed in concentration as she tried not to spill water down his
neck. Failing that, she wiped the water from his chin with her hand
and then froze in place, staring down at him with an expression of
wide-eyed panic.

She jerked her hand back from his face as if
recoiling from hot coals. Hastily rising from the edge of the bed,
she resumed her place on the chest across the room, huddled in her
blanket. Her response to him, unnerving as it was, gave Justin hope
that she was not out to torture him. But her obvious fear of him
didn’t bode well for persuading her to free him either.

While the rain beat heavily on the roof,
drips plopping sporadically onto the floor, he surveyed the stacks
of books that he had noticed earlier. In the flickering light he
could barely make out the titles, but the piles included everything
from romance novels to classics to educational texts and how-to
books. At least she was well-read. Attempting to outwit her was not
a likely option given the keen expression of curiosity that lit her
features.

Behind all her wariness was a spark of
intellect that intrigued him. How could he gain her trust? He’d
always been a lousy liar, so deception was out of the question.
Possibly his only hope for escape would be to charm the girl. He
studied her in the candlelight. Judging from the glower on her face
and her rigid posture, even charm held slim hope.

“
Can you please untie me?”
He had to make the effort, but the silent scowl that met his plea
was answer enough.

Resigned to a long night ahead, he stretched
as best he could, settling his swollen foot in its sling and
letting out a groan that caused the girl to squirm. He’d have given
anything for an ice pack and an aspirin just then, but didn’t
bother asking, certain she wouldn’t have access to such
amenities.

A candle on the table lit the room in
shadows. A few pots and pans and an unlit lantern hung above the
hearth. An ancient ax leaned against a stack of wood, and a shelf
with glass containers of dried herbs divided the small curtained
windows. More herbs hung drying from the rafters, the stalks bound
tightly in bunches. The leafy bouquets dangled upside down in a
long row. Could this be all a person needed to survive? It was a
far cry from his condo in Atlanta. An instant burst of gratitude
flooded his chest at how lucky he was—his own family issues
notwithstanding.

"My name is Justin Spencer. I don’t mean to
frighten you, but I was here on assignment, so you should know that
people will be looking for me if I don't show up tomorrow."

Maybe if he appealed to her sense of privacy,
she would let him be on his way. She glared at him and ignored the
comment. Wincing with the small effort it took to turn toward the
girl, he realized he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. His
gut tightened. Where were her people? She couldn't possibly live
out here alone in the mountains.

"By the way, how did you bring me here?” he
asked. “Do you have family or friends that helped you?"

A hint of a smile crossed her face in the
firelight, softening her wary expression. "I have a friend, yes."
Then the smile was gone, and she stared off into the flame blazing
in the stone hearth. "I don’t have a family."

Justin wondered about the friend who had
helped carry him to this cabin and whether this friend would be
friendly or not when morning came. Not wanting to think too hard
about the prospect, Justin continued his inquiry. "Do you live here
alone, then?"

She eyed him, measuring her response before
answering. "Sometimes.”

“
How did you come to live
so far into the mountains?” Justin asked, curiosity taking over. He
watched her in the soft glow of candlelight and shadow. Her eyes
shimmered like blue gems as she stared into the fire. A blank
expression covered her face as if she were somewhere
else.

Finally returning to the moment, she set her
eyes on his and let out a slow breath. She evaded the question and
answered instead, "The forest is my home, this cabin shelters me
from the wind and rain, and the streams, roots, and bushes provide
food for me."

She stopped to take another deep breath and
added in an almost imperceptible whisper that gripped Justin's
heart, "I’m safe here."

In the Light of Day

The man finally drifted off after she stopped
answering his onslaught of questions. She’d prepared a cup of
willow bark tea mixed with chamomile and valerian that he drank
without argument, despite complaining of the pungent odor and
bitter taste. Uncertain of his motives and having no clear plan for
the unusual houseguest who lay in her bed, she remained wary,
answering in vague, clipped sentences until he yawned deeply and
stopped talking. The powerful mix of herbs should keep him sleeping
comfortably until morning. She’d worried about his head injury, but
since his vision seemed fine and he was speaking coherently, she
decided that sleep would be the best medicine. If his breathing
became labored or shallow, she would wake him. She stoked the fire,
added a few more logs, and then sat down on the old sea trunk
listening to the rhythm of his breath.

Dozing, she awakened to the steady sound of
his light snore, so unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting. To have
another person sleeping so near tugged at a place deep in her
soul—a place where warm arms held her gently and the sweet smell of
home permeated the air.

A mother who carried the scent of eucalyptus:
a father who smelled of coffee and newspaper: sitting in a big
kitchen eating cinnamon toast. The distant memories emerged in
flashes, and a desperate desire for companionship hummed beneath
the surface of her dreams. The thought of having someone to depend
on both warmed and frightened her.

The hollow ache of loneliness had lived
inside her for as long as she could remember. She had accepted that
a different life lay in a world beyond her reach. Why did his
presence make her question her future? Thinking about the future
only made her sad. Her very survival depended not on another
person, but on living one day—one moment—at a time. She pushed the
thoughts aside.

The gray light of dawn seeped through the
window and sent shadows across her prisoner's face, which now held
an almost angelic expression. Brinn’s eyes wandered down the curved
muscles of his neck and shoulders and up his outstretched arms. She
watched the rise and fall of his wide chest. Then she followed the
line of his lean, muscular body, aware of the sensations that crept
along her skin.

Inspecting his tanned arms—the fine hairs
golden in the first rays of morning light—she wondered what it
would feel like to touch them. Was the hair as soft as it looked?
Were his muscles as firm and taut as they appeared? Her eyes
drifted across his smooth chest. The contours of each defined curve
of his torso made her flesh rise and tingle. It felt like it did
when she stood under a cool waterfall on a hot summer day—a
sensation that took her breath away. The pounding in her ears was
not from the familiar torrent of cascading water, but from the
blood that pumped furiously through her veins.

Her eyes fell below his waist, and her heart
nearly stopped. Her first instinct was fear. This gave way to
curiosity as she noticed the large protruding shape under the
blankets.

Tentatively crossing the room, buck knife
drawn, she silently observed Justin's slow, steady breathing. She
tugged at his bonds, making sure they were secure. Brinn cautiously
lifted the blankets and peered beneath them. She sucked in a
breath, dropped the covers, and backed away.

Her limbs began to shake, her stomach
clenching in a tight fist. A suffocating darkness closed in around
her. She gripped the sharp edge of her blade. A fat drop of blood
hit the top of her foot. She inhaled sharply and willed the sting
of pain to hold her steady. Images of the man who’d taken her as a
child flashed behind her eyes. The pain he’d inflicted, the torment
that his body had caused when he penetrated her, all the years she
spent trying to forget, washed away in a single moment. How could
she let this happen? Why had she brought this stranger here to her
home? Her mind spun with a mix of emotions too many to name.

The memory of removing all of his clothes the
night before returned in painful clarity.

When she’d gotten him settled on the small
bed and applied the yarrow root to stop his head from bleeding,
she’d noticed his skin was like ice. After she put on her own dry
clothes, she’d sat frozen herself for several minutes debating the
necessity of it, but the intensity of his shivers gave her no
choice but to remove the man’s clothing if she wanted to keep him
alive.