The Perfect Stranger (27 page)

Her assurances should have relieved him. For some reason, they didn’t.

“You see, all of this is new to me.” She shrugged, and the bedclothes slipped a little lower. “As you pointed out, I am a woman and not a soldier, so…”

As she was all but naked, and his body was thick with desire, he was of no mind to contradict her.

“So there is a possibility—a very slender one, mind—that I might get attached. Would that be so very bad?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Very bad indeed. It would distract me from my purpose, and I would have to send you back to England early.”

She lay back against the pillows. “Well then, what a good thing that I’m not attached, because I’m enjoying this journey very much and have no wish to distract you from your purpose.” She stretched again sleepily, and the bedclothes pooled around her waist. Venus, rising from the bedclothes.

Nick groaned and had a quick tussle with his conscience. It lost. He put down the coat he’d just picked up and began to unbutton his shirt buttons.

Delay was not the same as distraction, he told himself. And besides, it was just a few more days to Bilbao. He would do what he must do then. Besides, she had said she wanted a child. He could at least try to give her that.

Chapter Eleven

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken.

J
ANE
A
USTEN

D
ARKNESS WAS FALLING.
A
CLUSTER OF BUILDINGS WAS JUST
visible in the distance. A village. Faith hoped they would stay the night there. They’d ridden longer and farther today than any other day since their journey had begun.

Nicholas was trying to make up for the time he’d lost, Faith surmised. Not that he discussed such things as headaches. He’d almost bitten her head off earlier when she’d asked him if perhaps they might be made worse by anxiety.

“That topic is dreary, madam,” he’d snapped. “I do not wish to hear you ever again refer to…to my temporary indisposition. I find the whole matter a bore.”

And that was that.

Faith’s back was aching, and she felt unutterably weary. She felt herself sagging in the saddle and jerked herself upright again. She was determined to prove to him that she had what it took to be a soldier’s wife. She would endure any hardship and discomfort if it meant she could sleep in his arms every night. And wake to find him watching her with tender possessiveness—even if he did hastily disguise it.

This life might not be a life of ease and comfort, but she had never been happier. He could talk all he wanted about being attached or not attached, but Faith felt loved. More, she felt cherished. Even his attempts to prevent her from “getting attached” were based, she believed, on some strange kind of protectiveness, though protection from what, she had no idea. He might try to disguise it as soldierly indifference, but it wasn’t indifference Faith felt when he took her to heaven each night.

If he called that building castles in the air, then she wasn’t going to waste time arguing. Happiness was happiness. She’d known all her life that happiness was temporary; she would wallow in it while she could.

As they turned the corner into the village, they became aware of a commotion farther up. There were flaming torches and the sounds of yelling. A woman was screaming.

They halted. “We should give it a miss, Cap’n,” said Mac. “It doesna do to interfere in local matters.”

As he spoke, there was a shrill feminine scream of pain.

“Nicholas?” Faith was horrified at the suggestion they should leave. “I was once in trouble like that.”

“I know.” Nicholas nodded. He gripped her hand in reassurance. “We’ll see to it. You stay here,” he ordered Faith. He, Mac, and Stevens galloped forward, then pulled their horses to a sudden stop.

“Women!” Mac said in surprise.

A crowd of women were gathered in the village square, screaming and hurling abuse at someone or something in the center. A few men stood around the edge of the crowd, but it seemed to be a largely female riot.

“’Tis a lass they’ve got there,” Mac said. He watched for a second, then said uneasily, “They look angry enough to kill her, Cap’n.”

The three men looked at each other.

Faith watched anxiously, telling herself they were used to this sort of thing, being soldiers. As the crowd shifted, she caught glimpses of the girl in the center of the throng. She was young, dark-haired, and stood alone against all the rest. They were hitting and kicking her, grabbing at hunks of her hair and screaming abuse at the top of their lungs. It was horrible.

Faith didn’t know why these women were punishing this young girl; she didn’t care. In any situation where a raging crowd was ranged against one person, she would side with the underdog.

Save her
, Faith willed Nicholas silently.
Save her!
She waited for him to wade in and rescue her.

He and Stevens had dismounted and were trying to talk to the women, to find out what was going on, to calm things.

As she watched, a woman leaped at Nicholas and swung a punch. She missed. But it started something. Some of the women turned on the two strangers. Nicholas fended them off without too much trouble, holding them at arm’s length, ducking blows and kicks, but from the looks of things, Stevens didn’t escape unscathed. But neither of them struck back, she saw, torn between pride and frustration.

Mac, the inveterate woman hater, seemed not to notice. He sat on his horse, staring at the girl in the middle, a black frown on his face, his big fists bunching and flexing.

The girl was fighting back like a young Amazon, scratching and kicking like a wildcat. But she was no match for a dozen or so grown women. Faith watched with growing anxiety.

“Come on, Nicholas!” she yelled. They might be hampered by their reluctance to lay violent hands on women, but Faith had no such inhibitions.

Drawing her pistol, she rode forward. “Stop this at once,” she screamed at the top of her lungs, but there was so much noise, no one could hear. So she fired over the top of their heads. There was a sudden silence, and everyone turned to face her. She quailed before the hostility on their faces.

“Grab her, Mac,” yelled Nicholas. “Get her out of here.”

He meant grab Faith, but Mac misunderstood. Roaring like an enraged beast, he forced his horse forward into the crowd. Women scattered before him, and he bent, snatched up the beleaguered girl, tossed her across his saddle, and rode out of the village before anyone quite realized what happened.

Stevens mounted his own horse and returned the way he came, to collect the packhorse.

“Now, let’s get out of here!” Somehow Nick was back on his horse and at Faith’s side. “This way.” He pointed. “Now go!” He slapped her horse, and Faith found herself galloping out of the village and then veering in a wide circle across the fields.

“Where are we—”

“Just follow me!” he growled.

“But—”

“Shut up and ride!”

By that time she’d caught a glimpse of his face. She’d never seen him so furious. She shut up and rode.

They galloped in silence, riding as if the Devil himself were after them. But in fact nobody was in pursuit. The speed and fury of the pace he’d set was a direct reflection of his mood. The horses’ hooves echoed in the night, thudding over the ground, eating up the miles.

As the first rush of excitement drained away, dread slowly pooled in the pit of Faith’s stomach. She’d seen his cold anger; that was something to be feared. Now rage simmered under his skin, and it was far from cold.

As a child, she’d learned to hide from Grandpapa’s rage by hiding in the cupboard under the stairs. Now she was out in the open, riding
ventre à terre
into the dark unknown. She was alone with him, and there was no place to hide.

Eventually, the tired horses could keep up the speed no more. They came to a small clearing, wooded on one side and with a stream running through it, and he turned off the road. He flung himself off his horse, and set it free, still saddled, with a slap on its flank. He took Faith’s reins from her, dragged her from the saddle, and set her horse free, too. Both animals headed directly for the stream. Faith would have liked a drink, too, but she had no time for anything except to brace herself as a furious tirade erupted from him.

“What the
devil
possessed you to ride into that pack of harpies, when I
specifically
ordered you to stay put?” He gripped her upper arms fiercely. “Don’t you know that
anything
could have happened? Those women were in a mood to
kill
!” He shook her for emphasis.

“I know. I wanted to save that girl,” she managed in a shaky voice.

“You little fool! What the devil do you think Mac and Stevens and I were going to do?” He glared at her. “We are soldiers! We know what to do!”

She braced herself and retorted, “You weren’t doing much that I could see.”

“You shouldn’t have even been there to see!” he roared.

A small thrill ran through her as he roared. She blinked at him. His face was dark with rage, and he looked as fearsome a man as any she had seen. Yet—the thought dropped into her mind like a huge stone into a pool—she wasn’t terrified.

He’d been nearly this angry about the hare. And he hadn’t touched her.

The knowledge trickled through her numb body like slow bubbles of champagne. She wasn’t afraid. She was arguing with him. He was in a red-hot fury and roaring at her like a bull, and she was shaking, but not with fear. It was reaction, the shaking. And so, perhaps, was his rage.

She said, “Yes, but I was there. And I could see that your chivalry was hampering you in dealing with those women.”

“Chivalry!” He rolled his eyes fiercely. “Will you stop ascribing chivalry to my every action. I am not a chivalrous person!”

She shrugged, suddenly feeling exhilarated. “I acted as I thought best.”

“You didn’t think
at all
! Nobody there was thinking! Those women were a mob! There is
no reasoning
with people in that state.”

“I know. That’s why I used my gun.” She smiled at him. She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t afraid.

He stared at her, as if unable to believe she could smile at him while he was roaring at her. Faith could hardly believe it herself.

“I was
mad
to have given you the blasted gun. You only have
one shot
, don’t you know that? After you’d fired, anything could have happened, and you couldn’t have defended yourself!” He shook her again. “When people act in a crowd like that, it’s a
pack
mentality, d’you hear me? A pack mentality. Like wild dogs! They could have turned on you and
torn you apart
!” He stared at her wildly and repeated,
“They could have torn you apart!”

And then he groaned and wrapped his arms hard around her. “Oh, God, don’t you ever,
ever
frighten me like that again.” And he held her so tightly she could barely breathe. She could feel his blood pounding through his body, his muscles straining to hold her to him. His breaths came in great gasps. She leaned into him, breathing in his warmth, his strength, his scent.

After a few moments it was not enough simply to be held—heaven as that was—and she struggled to free her arms so she could hug him back in the same way.

And then his mouth was on hers, and he was devouring her: embracing her, running his hands, his mouth over her body, part caress, part reassurance that she was in one piece.

Faith had never felt so treasured, so valued, so cherished in her life. And oh, how she loved him.

“I not go with you. I kill you first, cochon! Monstre!” The furious female voice pierced their consciousness.

Mac rode into the clearing with the rescued young woman clamped tight under one arm. She didn’t behave like any grateful damsel in distress, however; she was fighting and hurling abuse in a mixture of broken English, French, and Spanish. “I
not
go with you. I
hate
you. I
kill
you! Let me
go
!”

“Get it through your thick wee skull, woman, that I rescued ye. I’m not going to hurt ye, ye silly wench!” As she thumped him again, he added, as if to himself, “I have to have rocks in ma head…”

She tried to rake his face with her talons. They tangled in his beard, and Mac laughed. His laughter spurred her to further fury.

“Let me goooo!” the girl screamed in rage.

“Fine then.” Mac opened his arm, and the girl dropped to the ground. She didn’t land sprawling in the dirt, as Faith was sure she would have done, but landed on all fours, like a cat. She straightened with a lithe movement, shook herself like an animal, and smoothed her ragged clothes, glaring at Mac through the dark tangles of her hair and muttering under her breath.

She glanced at Faith and Nicholas, and at Stevens as he rode into the clearing with the packhorse. She tossed her head back and regarded them defiantly, bare legs braced and hands on hips.

She was a flamboyant-looking girl. Her long, gathered skirt left her ankles and part of her calves quite exposed, and her feet were bare, except for a decorative silver chain around one ankle. She was good-looking in a wild, gypsy manner, with liquid dark eyes, currently flashing with rage and defiance, and a thick mane of curly black hair. She was small and slender but voluptuously built, with generous curves above and below the tightly cinched waist. Her blouse had been ripped at the neck more than once and roughly mended.