by Maya Banks
“Well, it isn’t, I suppose, but…” His voice trailed off as he was unsure of what further to say.
She drew herself up and squared her shoulders. “I am confident that we can share the bed without dissolving into a puddle of impropriety. I daresay we are so far beyond the bounds that no one should even blink an eye at this stage. Besides, who is to see us?”
She had a solid point. Propriety was a foregone notion at this point, but it wasn’t what he worried about anyway. He was more concerned with how he could possibly spend another night in such close proximity to her and not pull the clothing from her delectable body and make love to her as he had never made love to a woman.
With an inward groan, he merely nodded and prepared himself for the longest night of his two and thirty years.
Chapter Eleven
Long after Merrick’s soft breathing filled the room, Isabella lay awake, scooted as far to the edge of the bed as she could be without tumbling to the floor.
She was tired, exhausted, but every time she closed her eyes, she relived his kiss with alarming detail. Even now she shivered when imagining his lips on hers. The tingling shock that raced down her spine. How she forgot everything else in the shadow of his touch.
Her reaction to him was dangerous and foolish. If she continued behaving like an errant schoolgirl, she would compromise her entire objective.
But deep within was a woman who was tired of being alone against the world. A woman who wanted very badly to be held and told everything would be all right. And never before had she met a man who made her want to lay everything at his feet. Until now.
An impossible match at impossible odds. Deep sadness, different than the oppressive grief that had plagued her for so long, weighed down upon her. Sadness that her life was no longer hers and her wishes no longer mattered. Any choice she had was snatched away in the terrible instant her parents had been killed. Now her future belonged to Leaudor and to its people. There was no room in her life for moments of passing fancy.
She tossed restlessly for the hundredth time since she and Merrick had retired to bed. In the midst of her turning, his arms came out to steady her. They wrapped solidly around her and pulled her up close to him.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
She melted into his warmth as her back nestled into the curve of his body. A deep sigh of contentment rocked her. For a few stolen moments, she wouldn’t think of the future. For now, she would take the comfort he offered. She would not dwell on when they would part.
His hand rested precariously close to her breast, and the skin under his fingers burned with awareness. His heat radiated through her body rendering the fire a non-necessity.
Not pondering the rightness or the wisdom of her actions, she turned once more to face him and snuggled tightly against him, melding her body in a perfect fit to his.
Was it her imagination or did his heart start beating faster? She snaked her arm over his side and pulled him even closer. Yawning broadly, she nestled her cheek against his firm chest and closed her eyes.
* * *
Simon’s eyes flew open and darted hastily around the room. In his arms, Isabella slept soundly, but something nagged at him. A feeling of foreboding settled over him. Something had awakened him, but damned if he knew what. And then he heard it. The creaking of the floor, barely discernible, but there it was.
He sat up, torn as to whether he should wake Isabella. As much as he hated to disturb her, his instincts were rarely wrong.
“Isabella,” he whispered urgently, shaking her.
She came awake at once, her eyes immediately alert. She sat up abruptly. “What is it?”
“Get dressed,” he directed. “Someone is outside our door. We may have to resort to your window exit.”
Her feet hit the floor almost silently as she flew to collect her clothing. Not concerned at all for modesty, she thrust her legs into her breeches, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her shapely calves.
He pulled on his shirt and quickly yanked on his boots. Holding a finger to his lips, he gestured her toward the window. “Take a look and see if anyone is watching,” he whispered. “I’m going to glance down the hall.”
She caught his arm as he moved past her. “Be careful.” She brushed against him for a brief moment then hurried to the window.
As his hand curled around the knob, Isabella whispered urgently from the window. “There are at least two men standing outside.”
He turned to look at her, his hand still on the door handle. “We should give thought to the window exit you’re so fond of.”
She glanced nervously between the door and the window.
“We could crawl out and ease down the roof. If there is anyone waiting below, we’ll go with the element of surprise and jump down on them.”
She nodded her agreement.
He looked at her. “Are you up to it?”
Her eyes flashed at his challenge. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”
Dropping his hand from the doorknob, he hurried across the room. He pried open the window and gestured impatiently for Isabella to come.
“Just remember to roll when you hit the ground,” she murmured as she crawled over the sill.
“Despite the fact you seem so fond of barging out of windows, I assure you, this won’t be the first time I’ve had to use this means of escape,” he said dryly.
Silently, they crept across the roof until they reached the edge. Simon looked down then held a finger to his lips as he glanced over at Isabella. He held up two fingers and pointed. She nodded and eased forward until she could see below.
He cocked his head and motioned that he was ready. Isabella sucked in her breath and crouched. He laid a hand on her wrist then signaled for them to jump as the two men walked closer.
In unison they jumped. Simon landed on his target, flattening the man to the ground. As he landed a brutal blow to the man’s face, Simon’s head exploded in a burst of pain, and he slumped forward
Isabella looked up from the unconscious man underneath her and swore viciously as she saw Merrick fall to the ground. She struggled up, praying that he had at least distracted the men enough that she could escape. If her suspicions were accurate, they wouldn’t bother over him anyway.
As she fled in the opposite direction, she collided with a mountain of dead weight. She was thrown to the ground as a man twice her size tackled her. Her breath left her in a whoosh and she gasped painfully, trying to drag in air.
Squirming and kicking, she struggled frantically beneath her assailant. She wrapped her fingers in his hair and snapped his head back. With her other hand, she jabbed her fingers into his eyes, eliciting a howl of pain.
Taking advantage of his distress, she shoved as hard as she could and rolled him to the side. She shot up then smashed the heel of her boot down across his throat. Satisfied that he would not pursue her, she broke into a run.
Her fright and determination lent her more speed than she imagined possible. As she neared the edge of the woods, she thought with a moment of jubilation that she had succeeded in escaping.
Then, without warning, her legs were swept from underneath her, and she landed on her back with enough force to completely rob her of breath. As she lay for a brief moment gasping painfully, three men appeared over her, and her heart sank. How would she possibly be able to escape them?
Feigning weakness, she continued to lie still, gauging what her assailants would do next. When one reached down for her, she kicked her legs up and wrapped her feet around his neck. Wrenching her legs sideways, she flipped him over her body. Arching her back, she bucked to her feet. As soon as she was standing, she swung her leg out in a powerful kick and crumpled the man to her immediate right.
She assumed a fighting stance as they scrambled up. The two men growled in fury and launched themselves at her. She landed a blow to one of their heads but they weren’t swayed. She fell to the ground beneath them, unable to escape their steely gras
p.
Her hand inched toward the dagger she had tucked into her breeches, but she was unable to grasp it when her arms were jerked over her head. She screamed in rage as they pressed her farther into the ground. Her reward was a slap in the face, momentarily stunning her into silence. With speed she hadn’t expected, they bound her arms and then her legs.
“Let’s see you maneuver out of this one, Princess,” one of them taunted.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “Who sent you?” Their accents were English, not Leaudorian. “Whatever they are paying you, I can double it. If you just let me go.”
“Stuff the rag in her mouth so she’ll shut up,” the other one muttered. “And get Tom up off the ground,” he added in disgust.
Her protests were squelched as a foul-smelling rag was forced into her mouth. She gagged at the taste. As they yanked her to her feet, she stumbled, unable to keep her balance with bound feet and arms. She attempted to thrust the gag out with her tongue, but a hand was quickly clamped over her lips.
“Be easy with her,” the apparent ringleader cautioned. “We’ve been paid a lot of money to ensure she’s alive, and I don’t want to be giving it back if she turns up dead.”
A chill trickled down her spine. She had to escape. Once they discovered she no longer was in possession of the map, they would likely lose any desire they had to keep her alive.
* * *
Simon opened his eyes and promptly closed them again when pain knifed sharply through his head. He felt wet and cold and whatever he was laying on was wretchedly uncomfortable. Where was he?
He pried his eyes open again and saw something that looked remarkably like leaves. He was on the ground. His memory came roaring back, and he leapt immediately to his feet, nearly vomiting as pain overcame him.
“Isabella! Isabella!” he yelled hoarsely, whirling frantically around in an attempt to locate her.
When the world finally stopped spinning, he saw nothing but darkness. Stifling silence loomed eerily around the area and he cocked his ear, straining to hear something…anything to help him locate Isabella.
Had she escaped? Or had she been captured after he was hit on the head? Self-recrimination ate sharply at him.
He stumbled in the direction of the inn. He had to find her. After struggling up the stairs to their room, he let himself in and hastily splashed water on his face from the washbasin.
He collected their meager belongings, hurriedly stuffing them into a sack. He once again tucked the dagger into his boot then checked his waistband to make sure the pistol was still secured there. His hand brushed against an odd shape just to the right of the pistol, and he dug into his pants to retrieve it.
To his utter shock, he pulled out the small pouch that contained the map. How had he…? And then he remembered her brushing against him just before they had leapt from the window. She must have feared she would be captured and was unwilling to relinquish the map.
Bile rose in his throat and fear gripped him, nearly paralyzing him. Once they discovered she didn’t have the map, they would not be overly concerned with what happened to her. She had trusted the entire future of Leaudor to him, and he mustn’t fail her. He had already done so once. Twice would be disastrous.
A quick glance out the window told him dawn was not far off. Despite the earliness of the hour, he knew there would still be patrons in the tavern. Perhaps a few coins would loosen their tongues. He fingered the coin purse Isabella had procured from the village woman, hoping there was enough within to gain the information he needed.
Chapter Twelve
“Where is the map?” the man snarled.
When Isabella remained silent, staring ahead in defiance, he lashed out and slapped her across the face with his palm.
Her head snapped back, the pain numbing her cheek, but she quickly faced forward again. Then she fixed him with what she hoped was her coldest stare. “Go to hell,” she said firmly.
The man turned on his heel with a roar of rage. The other two men, one of whom she had ascertained was named Tom, sat in the background, smirks embedded in their faces.
“Let me have a go at her,” Tom said, rubbing his jaw. “I owe the bitch.”
The man sitting beside him elbowed him. “You idiot. Why rough her up? I can make her talk.” He laughed uproariously as he adjusted his crotch.
“Shut up, the both of you,” the leader ordered.
“Aww, Rufus,” Tom whined. “We’re just having a spot of fun.”
“This is no time for your stupidity,” Rufus snapped. “You and Frank shut up until I tell you it’s time to talk.”
He turned back to Isabella, a wicked looking knife appearing in his hand. A sinister glint surfaced in his eye as he leaned in close to her. He pressed the blade against her throat until she felt a thin trickle of blood slither down her neck. “Tell me where it is, Princess, or I’ll take great delight in slicing you up.”
“If you kill me, you’ll never know where the map is,” she said in triumph.
“No, but that won’t stop me from creating a new face for you. You’ll still be very much alive. Just less beautiful than you are now.”
Her stomach clenched, and she knew she had been unsuccessful in keeping the fear from her eyes because he looked at her in satisfaction.
“Now, tell me what I want to know or it’s going to be a very long day for you.”
* * *
Simon crept up to the cottage, praying that he had been led in the right direction by the elderly man in the tavern. The old man had been way into his pint of ale. Probably one of many he had downed in the night. His speech had been slurred, but he swore he had heard a group of men plotting to kidnap a woman and take her out to the old Jenkins place.
On silent feet, he walked the remaining distance to the door and put his ear to the rotting wood. His heart nearly stopped when he heard Isabella’s cry of pain.
Stifling the urge to immediately burst in, he listened intently, trying to ascertain the men’s positions in the room. From the shuffle of feet and murmuring voices, he determined there were at least three. Not good odds. But the element of surprise would be with him as would his pistol and dagger. He would utilize all to the utmost.
Mentally counting to three, he withdrew the knife and gun and rammed his shoulder into the door. It immediately splintered, wood flying in all directions. He wasted no time and fired the pistol at the first man he saw. As a second launched himself at him, Simon threw the dagger into his chest.
Out of weapons, he turned to the man closest to Isabella, prepared to beat him to a bloody pulp. His stomach clenched when he saw the knife at her throat.
“I’ll kill her,” the man blustered, fear etched into his sweaty face.
“If you so much as touch her, I will make sure you die a long, slow, painful death,” Simon growled.
The two men stared at one another. Simon could read the fear and uncertainty…and the desperation. It was the latter that worried him. Desperate men did desperate things.
He chanced a glance at Isabella and instantly regretted it. A thin trickle of blood ran in a rivulet down her neck. The beginnings of a bruise marred her cheek, and her eyes burned bright with fear. Anger, red and hot, seized him.
“Drop your knife and face me like a man,” he ordered. “Or are you content to hide behind a woman?” He attempted a sneering tone, hoping he could bait the man into a confrontation.
But the man stood steadfast, his knife never moving from her skin. “Get out or I’ll slice her throat.”
If only he had saved his bullet for this man, but he’d seen him too late. Now he had no weapon, and he couldn’t chance Isabella being harmed if he made a grab for her captor.
He held up his arms in a placating manner. “Don’t be hasty. I believe I have something you want.”
“Merrick, no!” Isabella hissed.
Simon ignored her and drew out the parchment from his breeches. He held it out to the ma
n and watched as the man’s eyes brightened.
“Drop it on the floor,” the man said in an excited voice. “Then back away.”
Simon complied but only moved a scant distance away. The man was clearly torn as to what to do. He obviously wanted the map very badly. He had likely been offered an exorbitant amount of money if he could retrieve it.
In the man’s excitement, he made a huge mistake. Simon could scarcely contain his satisfaction as the man slashed the ropes at Isabella’s feet.
“Get the map,” her captor ordered, shoving her roughly to her feet. “And don’t try anything stupid or I’ll stick this knife in your back.”
Isabella twisted her body and slowly bent, reaching for the parchment as best she could with her bound hands. Just before her fingers grasped it, she glanced up at Simon. The question was obvious in her eyes, and he nodded ever so slightly, hoping she would catch on.
As she rose from the floor, the man reached over to snatch the map from her. In a swift motion, she arched her leg and kicked him squarely in the stomach.
It was all Simon needed. Shoving Isabella to the side and out of danger, he lunged for the man. The knife went flying along with the map as Simon bore him to the floor.
They rolled as Simon wrapped his hands around his opponent’s beefy neck. Using every ounce of his anger and strength to his advantage, Simon wedged his knee into the man’s abdomen so he was unable to draw a breath. He kept a tight grip on his neck, squeezing until the man’s face turned red and his struggles decreased.
With a ruthless twist, Simon snapped the man’s neck. His head rolled back as his lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling.
Simon immediately scrambled over to where Isabella lay sprawled on the floor. She was desperately trying to free her hands. He hauled her upright and began working on the ropes. In moments she was free, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him.
Her heart pumped frantically against his chest, and he gripped her even tighter. Finally, she pulled slightly away and turned her face up to him, relief stark in her eyes.
