The Border Hostage (21 page)

She drew in a swift breath and her heart skipped a beat. His words disarmed her. He was a man of the world and a woman's body probably held little mystery for him. It was different for her, who had so little experience of men. Sitting on a bed, being undressed by Heath, while their bodies were inches apart was most disturbing. She could feel the heat of his broad chest and the warmth of his arms
as they reached around her. His murmured words slithered down her spine in a frisson of pleasure, while his male scent enveloped her, evoking feelings that were new and strange.

At the same time she felt vulnerable and helpless, and completely in his power. To Raven's utter amazement, she liked the feeling. He was fiercely protective of her and she felt that she could rely on him for anything, everything. He was her rock, her bastion, her protector, and her healer. She lifted her arms and symbolically yielded herself to his tender care.

The night rail dropped from Heath's fingers as he looked down at Raven's naked back. It was like cream satin, and the warm, smooth flesh curving down to her round bottom was sensual and feminine. He longed to lift the black curtain of hair from the nape of her neck and brush his lips across the intimate, private place. He wanted to put his mouth against her naked flesh and whisper dark, erotic words that would arouse her and make her feel beautiful. She smelled of smoke and woman, and it made him smolder with an insatiable longing to taste her.

Heath was fully aroused by the lovely female who sat before him. Though her back was turned to him, he was quite tall enough to look down over her shoulder and watch her delicate breasts rise and fall with every breath she took. He fought his desire to caress her by concentrating on getting his shirt on her without hurting her. He gave her no time to change her mind, but lifted her from the bed immediately and deposited her gently in the water, reminding her to keep her bandages dry.

Raven carefully draped her arms over the edge of the tub to keep her hands from getting wet. She had no idea that the water had turned Heath's shirt almost transparent and that her pink nipples were completely visible through the wet material. She watched him lather his hands with soap, and her lavender-blue eyes widened as she realized
that he intended to rub them all over her. The material was thin enough that the soap would penetrate through to her skin, and she realized that she would feel every touch, every stroke, every caress of his hands as they slid over her wet body.

“Some things take precedence over modesty, Raven. Just keep reminding yourself that cleanliness is next to godliness,” he said with a perfectly straight face. Heath placed his hands firmly upon her shoulders and rubbed his palms in circles, then as soon as that part of her was soaped, he moved his palms down to her breasts and gently massaged and stroked the lovely round globes until each of her nipples was decorated with a peak of white lather.

“Oh!” Raven gasped. “That is the first time a man has ever touched my breasts!”

“There is a first time for everything, my beauty, and earth-shattering as it may seem to you at this moment, I can certainly promise you it won't be the last time.”

Though his actions had not yet made her blush, his words did. Then when his hands reached into her armpits, it felt so personal and intimate that her blush deepened. When he moved down the tub slightly to soap her feet and legs, she was able to breathe again. However, that lasted only a moment, for without warning, Heath lathered his hands again and reached between her legs. Raven cried out her indignant protest, but it was too late.

“All done but the shouting, milady.” He winked outrageously and said, “If it will make you feel any better, I'll let you bathe me when your hands are healed.”

“When my hands are healed, I shall slap your face, Heath Kennedy!”

“Well, if I'm going to get my face slapped, I might as well do something to deserve it.” He waggled his soapy hands at her and laughed with delight when she shrieked.

“You wicked devil, you are enjoying this!”

He grinned at her. “The question begs: Are you?” His lips twitched. “You needn't answer if it makes you feel unladylike.”

“It makes me feel
shameful!”

His teasing grin vanished as he bent toward her and looked deeply into her eyes. “I can read your thoughts, Raven. You don't feel the least shameful. You feel a little shy, slightly breathless, and a tiny bit afraid. But danger excites you, you told me so yourself.”

She licked her lips.
“Am
I in danger?”

“I hope so, Raven,” he murmured intensely. “I hope you are in danger of losing your heart.”

She did not dare to examine any feelings that concerned her heart, and quickly changed the subject. “You promised to wash the smell of smoke from my hair.”

“Let's do it before the water cools. Can you move down so that you can dip your head back into the water? Don't grab the edge of the tub; I'll ease you down.” Heath placed his strong hand at her back and lowered her very gradually until all her hair was submerged, then he eased her back up again. He lathered her hair thoroughly with the rose-scented soap, then brought the water jug and rinsed it. He wrapped a towel about her head in turban fashion, then bade her wrap her arms about his neck, so that he could lift her from the water.

She wound her arms about him and was acutely aware of where Heath put his arms. One was about her back, the other was beneath her knees, but she could feel her bare bottom cheeks brush against his flexed arm as he lifted her and set her down before the fire. Raven stood there helplessly as he wrapped her in a large towel and rubbed her vigorously. His fingers moved beneath the towel to unfasten the shirt buttons, then, holding the towel about her with one hand, he peeled the wet shirt from her body with the other hand. He then proceeded to dry her thoroughly.

He brought her bed robe and held it out for her. She turned her back demurely, allowing the towel to slip to her
feet, while Heath wrapped her in the warm gown and gently pulled her bandaged hands through the sleeves. “What a team,” he murmured.

“You are my magic man,” she said breathlessly.

He raised her chin with his fingers until their eyes met. “Hocus pocus, fish bones choke us.”

A knock on the door was the maidservant with their supper. Barely above a whisper, Raven said, “I'm not really hungry. The pain is coming back.”

“I've been expecting it; we were lucky it stayed away this long. You must eat something, Raven, because I'm going to give you some poppy and licorice and it's not good on an empty stomach. Gradually it will take away your pain and put you into a sleep that will be mercifully deep.”

Raven decided she would try the mutton-and-barley broth, which Heath fed her one spoonful at a time. Then he built up the fire and brought the sleeping draught. He held the syrup of poppy to her lips and waited with endless patience until she took every drop. Then he picked up the hairbrush, sat down in a chair before the fire, and motioned for Raven to sit on the rug and rest her back against his knees. He unwrapped the towel from her head and began to brush her long, wet tresses.

Almost immediately the dancing blue flames of the fire, combined with the gentle stroking of the hairbrush, hypnotized Raven. The repetition of the long, firm strokes put her into a trancelike state where she had no will of her own. She wanted only to yield herself into his powerful, possessive hands all night. As she sat curled against his knees she gradually became euphoric, drifting in a warm sea of delicious sensation. She noticed absently that the pain in her hands had receded to a place apart, where it could not touch her, and she longed for Heath to go on brushing her hair forever. Her eyelids finally closed, she half turned toward him, gently lowered her head into his lap, and gave herself up to sleep and the warm haven of Heath Kennedy's body.

He held absolutely still, savoring the trust she had placed in him. A pulse beat erratically in his throat because her soft cheek was pressed into his hard thigh. Each stroke of the brush through her silken black curls had aroused him further. It had been unbelievably erotic for the dark Borderer to brush Raven's hair as if he were her body servant. If she ever became his, how sensual it would be to play with her ebony tresses before he made love to her. There was no denying that she had craved his touch tonight.

Heath set the brush aside and stroked her shining hair with his callused hand. He was infinitely glad that she slept and could no longer feel any pain. “You enthrall me, my beauty. I never believed I would find a female as innocent and as lovely as you, but I was wrong. I want you for my woman, Raven. Tell me you feel the same.” He closed his eyes, crushing down the raging desire he felt to brand her as his. Tending her needs tonight had been a combination of the pleasures of paradise and the agonies of hell.

He carried her to the wide bed and gently covered her. He stood watch over her for a long time, savoring her delicate beauty. He marveled that one with such black hair could have skin like cream and roses. Her eyelashes formed crescent shadows on her high cheekbones, and her soft, pink mouth begged for a man's kisses. With difficulty, he moved away from the bed, then sat before the fire to eat his dinner. When he was finished, he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and tried to think of other things. But her presence cried out to him, tempting him, luring him, beckoning him back to the bed. Heath fought his desires valiantly, but he knew it was a losing battle, and finally he gave in to temptation and returned to her. He undressed slowly, quietly, then slipped into the bed and drew her against him with tender yet possessive hands.

The narcotic effects of the poppy not only induced Raven to sleep, they took her to a mystical place, where colors were brilliant, creatures were magical, and every
sense was heightened. A ring of orange and yellow flames danced about her, but she was not afraid because Sultan was beside her, guarding her. She loved him so much, she cried, “Fly, save yourself!”

He flew in a wide circle, then came back to her. “I won't leave without you. We will get through this bad time together, Sheba.” Suddenly they were caught up in a spiral of smoke that carried them higher and higher, away from the flames, away from the terrifying darkness, into a cloudless blue sky, brilliant with sunshine. Freedom! There was no greater feeling in heaven or earth; it was intoxicating! Sultan and Sheba clasped talons and cartwheeled through the sky as one being, joyful to be alive, to be free, and, best of all, to be together.

She could hear the rhythm of something beating steadily, and thought it was the sound of their wings. Almost immediately, however, she realized it was the beat of their hooves as they galloped across the springy, emerald-green turf. An azure sea lay before them, and when they came to its shore, they began to race each other with a wild and reckless abandon. Their long black manes streamed behind them like banners in the wind, and the glorious freedom they felt was so exhilarating, they kicked up their heels in playful rapture. When they ran out of beach, they plunged joyously into the sea and began to swim.

Raven looked down at herself and saw her breasts clearly outlined through the wet material. “You devil, Heath Kennedy! You purposely gave me your shirt because you knew the water would make it transparent! I feel absolutely shameful!”

“You don't feel the least shameful. You feel a little shy, slightly breathless, and a tiny bit afraid. But danger excites you, Raven, you told me so yourself!”

She dived beneath the water, hoping he would pursue her and follow where she led, but he was suddenly before her, waiting for her with outstretched arms, and she went
into them willingly, eagerly, knowing that she felt more complete when he held her against his heart. With one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees, he lifted her and carried her from the sea. With his every step, she could feel her bare bottom cheeks brush against his flexed arm. Heath lay her down upon the warm sand and stretched out beside her. Slowly he unfastened the buttons that ran down the front of the wet shirt from neck to navel, then he removed the garment altogether. While one palm cupped her breast, the other caressed her body in all the most intimate, feminine places a woman possessed. His powerful hands stroked down her body from her breasts to her thighs, and she shuddered at the callused roughness of them on her soft skin. Raven reveled in his touch, longing to stroke his darkly tanned, naked flesh with her palms and trace her fingers over all the hard, muscular, male places a man possessed, but her hands were somehow held immobile by an invisible force.

As Heath made love to her with his hands and his mouth, the world receded until they became oblivious to everything around them. They did not notice the tide edging its inevitable way toward them over the sand until it engulfed them. Raven clung to him desperately as they went down, down, into the midnight blue depths; then, like a miracle, his powerful strokes took them up to the surface. She knew that he was her rock, her bastion, her strength. He had the power, and she wanted him to hold her safe against life's dangers forever.

They swam together, two black swans with their feathered wings touching, gliding across the lake toward the castle and the irresistible ringing of the bell. The church bell pealed forth its joyous notes telling the world that two people were about to be joined in holy matrimony. Raven's eyes widened with disbelief as she saw the priest standing before the altar with Heath, ready to do his bidding and perform this forced wedding without her consent. Her bridal gown was a white shirt, the only garment he had
allowed her since he kidnapped her and imprisoned her in his tower.

The dark Borderer had total control over her. He knew her thoughts, knew her every action. He fed her by hand as if she were a falcon and he her master. He was training her to do his bidding, allowing her to fly occasionally, but always luring her back, then securing her jesses between his all-powerful fingers. She had no will of her own; he had taken it from her as easily as he had taken her clothes and her freedom.