by Byrne, Julia
“Turn around.”
“Not until I know—”
“Turn around!”
Nell turned.
She felt Beaudene’s hands wring some of the moisture out of her hair, then he gathered the heavy tresses into a thick fall and used the length of silver tissue to tie it at the nape of her neck. She tried not to feel grateful. The relief to her aching head was wonderful, but that was no reason to trust him.
“What’s amiss with your stirrups?” he asked curtly as he stepped away from her.
“They need to be raised a notch.” She stayed where she was, keeping some distance between them. Now, her tired mind ordered. Ask your questions now. But where was she to start? With her father? With Beaudene’s insistence that she was in danger from the relatives who had housed, fed, and clothed her for ten years?
Mayhap she should just vanish into the darkness. Except he would come after her and she wasn’t sure how fast she could run.
“You’ll get chilled standing there,” he said over his shoulder. “Walk around a bit. Keep warm.”
“I wasn’t warm to start with,” she retorted. But she began walking up and down, her stiff muscles protesting at the exercise.
“You’ll live. ’Tis September. You’re not likely to freeze to death because of a few drops of rain.”
Nell stopped pacing and glared at him. “It’s been raining for hours. That’s more than a few drops.”
Beaudene walked around to Rufus’s other side. “If we reach the place I have in mind before dawn, we’ll be able to light a fire. There’s a mantle in my pack you can wear while your gown is drying.”
Her jaw dropped. “You’ve had a mantle in your pack all this time, and you made me ride through that downpour until I was wet to the skin? How could you?”
“’Twas amazingly easy, lady,” he said, coming around Rufus to stalk toward her. There was so much menace in his slow advance that she started to retreat. “I decided you would prefer to have something dry to wear when you have to strip off that gown, but if you’d rather run around stark naked, I can—”
“I wouldn’t,” Nell said hurriedly. She backed into a tree and was forced to stop.
Beaudene kept walking until he was looming right over her, crowding her against the tree and forcing her to tip her head back so she could keep glaring at him.
“You’re trying to frighten me,” she accused. Trying! He was succeeding. She could scarcely breathe for the tightness in her throat. “But it won’t work. I don’t frighten easily.”
His teeth gleamed in a quick, dangerous smile. “You don’t back down, either, I’ll say that for you, lady. Not even when you were facing that knife.”
“Backing down wouldn’t have saved me then, any more than it will now.”
He propped one hand against the tree trunk beside her head. “Judging by the way you’re walking, I’d say you’ve been punished already for lying to me about those stirrups. What more do you think I’m going to do to you?”
“How can I answer that? I don’t know anything about you.”
“True, but you’ll have plenty of time to learn.” He lifted his free hand to brush a damp tendril of hair from her cheek and his voice lowered. “I think we’ll both learn something over the next few days.”
“What I want to know will only take the next few minutes,” she said through suddenly dry lips. All at once she had the strangest feeling that they were having two separate conversations, one of which was beyond her comprehension.
“Minutes? Have all the men in your life rushed you, little temptress? Do you tease and tantalize until they’re so wild for you they care nothing for your pleasure?”
“What in Christendom has that to do with anything?” she demanded. “All I know is that you appeared in the stables at a very opportune time, killed a man without bothering to ask any questions, and dragged me away from my family. And I want to know why.”
Beaudene drew back a little. In the intermittent moonlight she saw him frown. “You know why.”
“I don’t,” she denied. “You said you came from my father, but how do I know that? And that man… You killed him as if it meant nothing.”
“Would you rather he had killed you while I stood there debating the matter with my conscience?”
“Of course not, but… How can you be sure he was a hired assassin?”
“Because I knew him, damn it!”
She went very still. “You knew him?”
“God’s blood! We don’t have time for this.” His long fingers closed around her arm. “You can trust me or not, as you please, Lady Eleanor, but you’re getting back on that horse.”
“Or what? You’ll knock me senseless?”
She winced at the rising note of hysteria in her voice, but couldn’t control it. Every nerve was screaming a warning at her. She was in danger from this man.
“How do I know that’s not what you intend doing some other time? How do I know you didn’t plan all this? How do I know you didn’t hire that man yourself so you could frighten me into going with you?”
The annoyance in his eyes flared into outright wrath. “God’s teeth, woman! If I hadn’t promised the King I’d see you safely home, I’d damn well leave you to your cousin’s mercies.”
“The King?” Shock held her motionless. “What—”
“Be silent! Or, by God, I will knock you senseless. Now, move!” He jerked her away from the tree as he spoke.
Nell screamed as pain shot across the back of her head.
“What the—”
“My hair,” she gasped. “’Tis caught on the bark.”
“Hellfire and damnation!”
“’Tis not my fault,” she snapped, reviving the instant he pushed her back and the pressure eased.
“Keep still. And that goes for your damned reckless tongue as well.”
The warning was unnecessary. The instant Beaudene’s grip left her arm, Nell forgot about talking. He stepped to the side, the better to release her hair from its entanglement.
She tensed, expecting more pain, but his fingers moved with surprising gentleness against her damp scalp, sending ripples of pleasure down her neck and across her shoulders. She almost arched her back like a cat wanting to be stroked.
The thought made her go rigid with shock. This was part of the danger, she realized, part of the reason she needed to escape. And she could run now, while ’twas still dark and she was only a few hours from home. There might not be another chance. God knew where Beaudene might take her, and she would be forced to follow, not knowing where she was, not knowing what he intended.
He had mentioned the King. Nell thought of her only encounter with the tall, handsome victor of the fight between York and Lancaster. The memory was three years old, but still she shuddered. That was when she had vowed never to become any man’s possession.
“Turn your head.” The command came out of the darkness, disturbingly soft and husky.
She obeyed, but every sense was focused on escape. Her hair was almost free of the rough bark. Another second—
She grabbed up her skirts and ran. Strands of hair caught, tore free, making her eyes water and momentarily blinding her, but she ran. And immediately she knew ’twas futile. Her clothes, heavy with dampness, weighed her down. The ground, made treacherous with wet leaves and hidden roots, caused her to stumble before she’d taken a dozen steps.
Fear, wild and desperate, drove her on, but ’twas too late. Beaudene closed the distance between them in seconds, catching her about the waist as he took them both to the ground in a low tackle. He turned as they fell, cushioning her from the worst of the impact, then before she recovered, before she even caught her breath, he rolled, pinning her beneath him.
She fought back with every ounce of strength left in her. She twisted frantically, tried to get her legs free, tried to lash out with her hands, but he was too big, too strong. His fingers snapped around her wrists like manacles, forcing her hands to the ground on either side of her
head. His weight settled more deeply into her lower body in a ruthless demonstration of sheer male dominance.
A scream of pure helplessness tore through her, only to escape in a choked cry that was barely audible. She struggled to drag more air into her lungs. The hidden crucifix, displaced by her struggles, dug painfully into her back.
“You can’t win, so stop fighting me,” Beaudene ordered, glaring down at her.
He wasn’t even breathing hard, she noticed, almost sobbing as her own breath came back in ragged gasps. “Let. Me. Go.”
“When I think you’ve regained what little sense you possessed.”
“How can I?” she cried. “When you’re—”
She broke off as awareness shot through her. He was covering her everywhere, his powerful shoulders blocking out the moonlight, his long limbs rigid bands of muscle controlling her without effort. She couldn’t move so much as an inch. His size and strength were overwhelming, and yet…he wasn’t hurting her. He was warm and hard and—
Shivering uncontrollably, shaken to the depths of her being, she stared up at the stern face above her. “Please let me go,” she whispered.
For a nerve-wracking moment nothing happened. Then, very slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, Beaudene released her wrists. He flattened his hands on the ground and lifted himself away, hunkering back on his heels beside her.
“Where,” he began very quietly, “did you think you were going?”
Nell slithered back a few inches before pushing herself up on one elbow. She saw Beaudene’s gaze lower, and become suddenly, fiercely, intent.
Startled, she glanced down, and her breath seized. The low-cut bodice of her gown had been wrenched from the wide belt at her waist during her struggles, and now hung loosely from her shoulders, exposing one pale, rose-tipped breast.
Unable to move, terrified of what she would see, she looked back at him.
In the moonlight his face was a primitive mask of desire, his gaze fixed on her body. Tension was a palpable force, vibrating in the air between them. His? Hers? She didn’t know, could only feel. When he reached out a hand, she shrank, a sound of fear escaping her lips. The sound of a trapped creature in the presence of the hunter; motionless, waiting, hovering on the edge of panic.
She saw his gaze lift to her face, saw his eyes widen. He frowned, the intensity in him changing as he saw the stricken expression she couldn’t hide.
“Be easy,” he said very low. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“If you lay one finger on me, I’ll kill you,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I swear it. Somehow, some day, I’ll kill you.”
He was still for a moment, watching her. Then he reached for her with the same lethal speed she’d seen in the hall, capturing her free arm and holding her captive.
Nell went rigid, bracing herself to resist the shove that would put her flat on the ground again. But instead of pushing her back, he raised his other hand, his gaze lowering once more to her breast, and, very gently, very carefully, pulled her bodice back into place. His fingers lingered, brushing the skin of her throat in a feather-light caress before he released her.
“As I said,” he drawled softly. “You don’t back down, lady.”
He got to his feet with a quick, lithe movement and reached down to pull her upright. “Shall we go?”
She nodded. At that moment she was so stunned she would have agreed to anything. She allowed herself to be led over to the horses and was again lifted into the saddle. Beaudene checked both stirrups before mounting Samson.
“This time,” he said, reaching for Rufus’s bridle to bring her horse alongside his. “If you want to be able to walk when we stop, push your skirts between your backside and the saddle.”
CHAPTER SIX
The night crawled with increasing reluctance toward dawn.
Beaudene kept the horses to a steady pace that ate up the miles without exhausting the animals. When hamlets or manors loomed ahead, he detoured into the forest. Once he dismounted to lead the horses over a narrow foot-bridge spanning a river, keeping to the grassy verge so any wakeful inhabitants of the nearby village would hear nothing of their passing.
Nell scarcely noticed their route. She was so stiff and weary they could have ridden through London itself without arousing a flicker of interest in her. And she had long since stopped trying to fathom the reasons for Beaudene’s actions—apart from dispelling any illusions that her threat to kill him had any effect. ’Twas a wonder he hadn’t laughed in her face.
She stared numbly at the straight, broad-shouldered figure riding in front of her and decided the most obvious answer was the correct one. Beaudene didn’t have time for dalliance. And she was simply too tired to worry about later. Her head drooped, she was chilled to the bone, and every muscle ached. Wistful visions of a cozy inn and a warm bed began to flit tantalizingly through her head.
“Ah!”
Beaudene’s short, satisfied exclamation brought her head up. They were deep in the forest. Somewhere along the way he had led them away from the road, for here the trees were so dense the moonlight scarcely penetrated the branches overhead.
Rufus slithered down a steep bank of earth, following Samson, and Nell grabbed hold of the saddle to keep her seat. When they reached the bottom, Beaudene dismounted and led Samson along the base of the embankment. He stopped when they’d gone about a hundred yards and began carefully moving branches aside.
Nell peered around. Halfway up the embankment the exposed roots of an ancient beech, that must have been blasted by lightning at some time and now lay on its side, jutted out over a pile of rocks, hiding the entrance to a deep depression in the earth. She wasn’t sure if she was looking at a hollow or a cave, but she was sure of one thing. ’Twas not an inn.
Beaudene’s earlier remark about lighting a fire returned with ominous clarity.
“Why are we stopping here?” she asked, her voice husky with weariness.
“Because I haven’t had any sleep for a couple of days and there won’t be much of it in the near future. A few hours now, before the hue and cry starts, may be all we’ll get.”
“You intend to sleep here? What’s wrong with an inn? Not even a peasant would—”
She stopped abruptly when Beaudene strode over to her.
“For the last time, Lady Eleanor, this is not a pleasant jaunt around the countryside. Unless you want to leave a trail a blind beggar could follow, you’ll forget about inns, soft beds, and warm food for the duration of this entire journey. Instead, you can get yourself off that horse and gather something for a fire while I go back and wipe out the tracks we made when we left the road.”
He left, disappearing into the silent darkness of the forest before she could gather enough breath to protest.
Nell sighed and managed to slide off her horse. “Well, ’tis just you and me, Rufus.” She clung to the animal’s neck while she waited for her legs to take her weight. A few yards away, Samson snorted softly.
“And that great brute, too. What am I supposed to do with the pair of you? Brush you down? Water you? Did he think of that when he decided we’re going to live like animals in a cave? Gather firewood. How am I supposed to do that when I can’t see?”
Moving gingerly, she crouched down to run her hands over the ground. The light covering of leaves was slightly damp, but the sheltering trees prevented the worst of the rain from reaching any twigs and small branches underneath.
Still muttering, she began to build a small pile of kindling near the black entrance to their sleeping place.
“He needn’t think I’m going in there on my own. I’d sooner sleep in the open. How does he know there isn’t a pack of wolves in there, waiting to—”
“I’ve used this place before.”
The soft, faintly menacing voice came from right behind her. Nell shrieked and leapt to her feet, spinning around so fast she almost lost her balance. “What do you think you’re doing, creeping up on me like that?” she yelled. “You fr
ightened me out of my wits.”
“What wits?” Beaudene retorted. “With the noise you were making both the York and Lancastrian armies could have marched past without you noticing. What’s all this stuff?” His booted foot pushed at her collection of bracken and twigs.
“’Tis for the fire you wanted.”
“God’s teeth, woman, what kind of fire is that going to make? Couldn’t you find something bigger?”
She ground her own teeth. “We aren’t all used to creeping around in the dark and living in caves. If you can do better, go ahead. And what about the horses? They’re wet, too, you know.”
There was an odd little silence. She could feel Beaudene watching her, although surely she was no more than a vague shadow to him.
“The horses will be all right once I’ve rubbed them down,” he said at last. “Go inside. You can’t tell in the dark, but there’s plenty of room and ’tis dry. Put your left hand on the wall, walk straight ahead about twenty paces, and wait for me.”
“To be attacked by rats or worse? I’d rather step off the edge of the world.”
“And I just might give you a helping—” He bit off the rest with a muttered oath. “Listen very carefully, your ladyship. I can’t take care of the horses, and find enough dry wood to give us a decent fire so we can dry our clothes, if I have to play nursemaid to a whining, pampered little princess. Now, move!”
Nell obeyed, vowing silent vengeance every step of the way. The words ‘pampered little princess’ stung—more so than when Tom had used the same phrase earlier that night. She was not whining. And how dare Beaudene call her pampered just because she hadn’t gathered the right twigs for a fire? If he was so fussy, he should have given her a list. As for the horses—
Her toe struck something hard and she made a startled sound, cursing as she remembered she was supposed to be counting her steps.
“What is it?” Beaudene asked at her shoulder.
Her heart promptly leapt into her throat. She clamped her lips shut on another frightened gasp and made a second vow. Before this was over she was going to put a stop to his habit of creeping up behind her if it was the last thing she did.
