The matron stood. “Johnny will bring yer supper in a thrice. Will ye be wanting a bath?”
“Aye,” Talon told her.
She nodded. “I’ll heat the water and have the bath ready when your supper is through.”
“My thanks, mistress.”
When she’d gone, he stared at Julia’s unmoving form, her back turned to him as if she couldn’t even bear the sight of him anymore. As if he were a maggot to be crushed beneath her boot.
Old corrosive anger burned through his blood. He’d been so damned scared he wasn’t going to reach her in time, his heart had nearly stopped beating. Yet the violence he’d had to use to save her was the very thing that had turned her against him. The fury of it churned inside him until he was a mass of anger and frustration.
With angry strides, he crossed the room, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her hard around to face him.
Her face was pale, her eyes glazed. Then anger flared in their depths and she shoved at him.
“Don’t touch me.”
Something dark and ugly snapped inside him and he pushed her against the wall, trapping her hands and yanking them above her head. Fury steamed from every pore in his body.
“You pretend you canna stand to look at me, that you canna stand my touch, but you’re a liar. Your body burns to join with mine, Julia Brodie. There’s fire between us and you’ll not pretend you’re too good, too pure to bear my touch.”
With his free hand he gripped her jaw and held her pinned. Then he leaned down and slammed his mouth to hers in a kiss meant to punish, to dominate. She would not look at him as if he were dung on her shoe!
She bit him. He jerked back to find her staring at him with fire.
“Let go of me.”
“Admit you want me.” The demand came out low and dangerous. He wouldn’t hurt her, but by God, she was going to admit she desired him. To both of them.
“Go to hell.”
“Och, aye. ’Tis a certainty, that. Admit you want me.”
“I don’t!”
“Your heart’s racing. I can see the vein pounding in your throat.”
“If it’s pounding, it’s in fury that you’re manhandling me again.”
No, it wasn’t. She was furious, they both were, but he could sense the passion rising hot and thick between them as it did every time they got too close.
“Your breathing is shallow. Your eyes are growing dark. And between your legs, you’re turning wet. Your body wants mine, Julia Brodie. It’s opening, becoming slick, wanting to join with mine.”
She struggled against his hold. Almost certainly against his words. “You’re wrong. I want nothing to do with you. I feel nothing for you.”
“’Tis an easy enough thing to find out.” He shifted both her wrists into one of his hands, trapping them above her head, then reached for her skirt, yanking it up where he could reach the hem. And what lay beneath.
Julia struggled harder against his hold. “What are you doing? Talon, no.”
“I’m only going to touch you with my finger. Touch that wetness and prove to us both how much your body weeps for mine.”
He found the bottom of her hem and lifted, his fingers brushing against her bare thigh.
“Stop it!” She fought him, struggling to kick him.
But she would cease her claiming she didn’t want him. Cease looking at him as if he were beneath her. His fingers slid to the top of her warm, silken thigh. Desire twisted and turned inside him and he grew desperate to touch her, to feel her damp need for himself.
But she’d locked her thighs against him. Her breath caught and turned ragged. Her body began to shake.
He teased the line between her soft thighs with his finger. “Open for me, lass. I’ll not hurt you.”
“No.”
At the sound of the heartbreak in that single word, he stilled. The fat tear that rolled down her cheek stopped him cold.
“Please, don’t, Talon. Please, don’t.” Her watery gaze sought his, wild with desperation and terror. She was shaking. Not from desire. Perhaps not even from anger.
“Julia . . .”
The tears began to roll, sliding down cheeks that were too pale, and she began to cry in earnest. Great hiccuping sobs rose from deep, deep within her, as if from the depths of her soul, forcing their way out with a violence that appeared to be ripping her apart.
“Lass, forgive me.” He was suddenly torn between the need to aid her and the certainty he was the one who’d caused her pain in the first place. He feared his touch was only making it worse.
He released her and stepped back, giving her room, watching helplessly as she bent double as if in terrible pain, and slid to the floor, sobbing as if her heart had irreparably broken.
“Ah, lassie, I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what to do to make it better. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. I was angry, but ‘tis no excuse. I willna hurt you. I’ll ne’er hurt you, Julia.”
The storm had her in its grip, and a storm it was. Curled into a ball on the floor, she tried to speak, but he couldn’t make out the words through the crying. Tears ran freely from her eyes. Her pain sliced through him, cutting him with a dozen knives, all the more sharply because he knew it was his fault.
He couldn’t bear it.
“Julia.” He reached for her, softly stroking her hair as he watched for her recoil. But she didn’t pull away, didn’t seem to notice.
A rap at the door had him scowling, but he scented supper and rose. He opened the door to the lad, blocking his view of Julia as he took their dinner, then closed the door in the lad’s face. Setting the tray on the table, he returned to Julia, who continued to cry as if her heart had broken and would never mend.
He sat beside her, his back to the wall, and stroked her arm as her sobs quieted, turning to great trembling gasps for air.
“Julia-lass?” he asked quietly.
Slowly, she turned her head to look up him, her eyes red and broken, her lashes spiked with the misery of her tears.
“I took no advantage of ye last night and I’ll take none now. But ye need a shoulder to cry on, and I’d have ye use mine.”
He braced himself for her rejection, fully expecting her to turn away. Not only had he frightened her, but she’d already made it more than clear she wanted naught to do with him any longer.
But to his deep relief, she nodded. As she began to lever herself up, he scooped her into his arms and settled her sideways on his lap. To his surprise, she turned and pressed her damp face against his neck, her arms tucked tight between them.
His arms went around her and he gathered her close as a second storm of tears overtook her, but not as violently as the first.
“I ... I ... was so ... scared.” The words trembled out of her between sobs.
“Ah, lassie, I’d not have hurt you. I’ll never again hurt you.”
“I . . . know. Not you. Them.”
And suddenly he understood. His hold on her tightened and he pulled her closer as the bands around his heart and mind loosened some of their terrible grip. He remembered the glazed look in her eyes and the terrible paleness, even before he’d forced his kiss upon her. A shattered look not caused by him, perhaps. Not caused by what she’d seen him do, but by the terror she hadn’t known how to settle.
He understood that feeling, had known it numerous times. Wasn’t he guilty of it, even now? Jesu, but he’d been terrified when they had her. Terrified he’d lose her to them and be too late finding her again to save her. And when he’d retrieved her and she was once more safe, he’d let that fear transform to anger.
Now he was beginning to wonder if she hadn’t done the same.
In silent understanding, he held her tightly as the storm finally ran its course. Slowly, she quieted, her head pressed to his shoulder, her body releasing the last of the misery on hard shudders that shook through them both.
He slid his hand up and down her arm as he had a hundred times. “You’re safe now, lass. You’re safe.”
She straightened, slowly, like an old woman, and he pulled his arm from around her and let her go. But she didn’t move from his lap, only wiped at her face with her hands, sniffling, then curled up against him again, gifting him with her trust and her forgiveness more clearly than if she’d spoken.
“Now that you know where the chalice is, I didn’t think you’d come.” Her voice was soft, almost broken.
It took him a moment to understand her meaning. “Ye thought I’d let them have ye?” he asked incredulously.
“I thought ... you didn’t need me anymore. And there were four of them.”
He stroked her head, pressing it against his heart. “I couldna forsake ye.”
“Why not?”
His fingers slid into her hair, playing with the soft, golden strands, uncertain of his answer. If she’d been any other lass, would he have gone after her?
Of course. He’d have left no lass under his protection to such a fate. The difference was no other lass would have been under his protection.
“I brought ye here. I’ll see ye home safe, aye?” He felt her arms slide around his waist.
“Thank you. For saving me.”
Something warm and fine moved inside his chest, filling it. Filling him. He stroked her head, his thumb tracing gently down her damp cheek.
“You’re welcome.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Are you well enough to eat? Our supper is here.”
She nodded and he rose and lifted her to her feet. But when he would have released her, his hands said otherwise and he tugged her into his arms. She came with little coaxing, burying her face in his chest and wrapping her slender arms around him once more, with surprising strength.
As she clung to him, his arms tightened around her protectively.
He would keep her safe. If it was the only good thing he did in his life, he would keep his promise and see her safely home. Even if the thought of never seeing her again was beginning to feel like a blade to his heart.
ELEVEN
As Talon ate his dinner with obvious relish, Julia pulled off a small chunk of bread and nibbled on it halfheartedly. She felt like she’d been tumbled and spun by a washing machine and hung out to dry. Her eyes were swollen half-shut from her crying jag, her jaw, head, and ribs all ached from the beating she’d taken this afternoon. Emotionally, she felt as flat and lifeless as the nearest rock.
She was warm now, at least, but she still felt rubbery and shaky. And the shakiness wasn’t entirely the result of the day’s ordeal. In part, it was due to her rescuer himself.
Talon flustered her on the most fundamental level. How could one person make her feel awkward and off balance, yet utterly grounded all at the same time? Her body reacted to his nearness, her emotions where he was concerned were nothing short of bipolar. Yet she felt comfortable around him, as she never had around another man. As she rarely felt around anyone.
Picking up her spoon again with a hand that still shook, she stirred the stew, no longer interested in it. What she’d managed to swallow was delicious, but her stomach remained a tangle of knots and refused any more.
She’d let him hold her, comfort her, as she’d cried in his arms. Why? She’d never needed anyone to hold her or coddle her and she didn’t need anyone now. Yet she couldn’t deny how sweet it had felt to accept Talon’s strength and gentleness, even if only for a matter of minutes.
He was a good man even if he was a con man and a thief. And the truth was she liked him. As they’d ridden this morning, sharing the same horse, she’d told him about the future. He’d listened to her and heard more than her words. He’d heard her love of teaching, a love she’d all but forgotten over the years.
Talon saw past the face she showed the world—the petite blond with the bad attitude. For the first time since she was fourteen, she was starting to let her guard down around a man.
Maybe it was inevitable, given their current situation.
She stirred her stew thoughtfully. No, not inevitable. Talon had gotten beneath her skin in a way she was pretty sure no other man could have.
“Are ye not hungry?” Talon asked, quietly.
She shook her head, meeting his blue-eyed gaze.
“Ye need a dram of whiskey, I’m thinking.” His voice was low and kind. “Give me yer hand.”
Her eyebrows lifted, but she did as he asked, placing her hand in his open palm. His fingers closed around hers, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
“Ye tremble still. I’ve tried different ways over the years to settle myself after a day like this. Sleep rarely comes until I do.”
“What ways? Other than whiskey?”
A hint of that boyish smile curved his mouth and brightened his eyes. Dimples peeked out, then retreated. “A good fight is one.”
“More violence.”
“’ Tis a man’s way.”
“What’s another?”
His eyes took on a gleam that was a little brighter, a little hotter. “Can ye not guess?”
She could. It was written all over his face. Her pulse began to speed. “Sex.”
“Aye.”
She tensed, certain he was going to try to talk her into it, or try to force the issue again.
Instead, he released her hand and leaned back in his chair. “Which is why I suggested the whiskey.”
She stared at him for a long moment, waiting for him to continue, before she realized that was all he’d intended to say. No pressure. No seduction.
“Thank you.” Her words were simple, yet sincere. “I’m not up for another fight with you.”
“I ken that.” He banked the heat in his eyes and smiled at her gently. “Ye’ve been through much this day. I’ll try not to make it any worse than I already have.”
She smiled, feeling something build in the silence between them. A connection—an understanding that grew and warmed. And a feeling that she’d known him forever, that she’d been waiting for him forever.
The thought startled her.
Talon pushed to his feet. “Let’s get those baths first, before they get cold.”
“I thought she was going to bring the bathtub up.”
“Nay, they’ll not be carrying the water and tub all the way up here. The bath will be waiting in the kitchen, where it’s warm. We’ll wash down there.”
She stared at him in dismay. “In front of everyone?”
He smiled kindly. “Behind a screen. You’ll undress, then dress again before you step out from behind it.”
“Oh.” Of course, with only one set of clothes, she’d have to put her bloodstained duds right back on when she was through.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I’ll see what I can do about talking the ring into fresh clothing.” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “We could both use some.”
A half hour later, they were back in the room, hair wet and smelling of heather soap. On the bed were a dozen items of clothing—a beautiful gold brocade skirt and matching top, a good-quality silk shift, a pair of hose of some kind. A pair of pants and a ruffled shirt for Talon, along with a dark green jacket and a deep gold velvet vest. Also on the bed were wool-hooded cloaks far nicer than the Jedi robes, and wonder of wonders, the navy blue one was half the size of the deep brown one.
Julia fingered the fine fabric of the skirt. “This is expensive stuff.”
“I asked the ring for the clothes we’d need to breach the gates of Picktillum. Apparently, we’re not to go in as servants.”
She looked up at him. “What story will you give them that will get us into the castle?”
Talon shrugged, dimples flashing. “I dinna ken. The ring will give me something to say when the time comes.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him.
He answered her unspoken question. “Aye, I trust the ring for nigh on everything.” His eyes grew serious. “But I didna trust it to save you today. I never asked it for help.”
“Why not?”
Talon looked at her thoughtfully, h
is mouth tensing. “I dinna ken.” His voice turned low and pained. “All I could think of was reaching you before they hurt you.”
Julia bit her lower lip and looked away, back at the clothes, feeling warmed and ... awkward. She stroked the skirt again. “The ring gaveth and didn’t taketh away this time.” Last time Talon asked for clothes for her, the old ones, her own clothes, had disappeared. It still annoyed her that she’d lost them.
“Yet,” Talon said.
Her gaze jerked to his as his meaning sunk in. Their clothes could disappear at any moment. Her eyes widened. “How long do you think we have?”
A gleam of humor lit his eyes. “The ring has a mind of its own, aye?”
“So we’d better change.” She frowned. “I hate to lounge around in such nice clothes.” What she needed were a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.
“Ye needn’t wear more than the shift.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. “’ Twill be all ye wear to bed.” He looked away, but not before she’d seen the heat flare in his eyes.
This shift was silk, not threadbare cotton, but the silk wouldn’t cover her much better than the one she had on. Still, the sooner she got out of these grimy, bloodstained clothes, the better. Especially if they were about to disappear.
She glanced at Talon, about to ask him to turn around. But as he pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing a hard, well-defined chest, a perfect six-pack, and thick well-muscled arms, she forgot what she’d been about to say. He was breathtaking.
As she stared, he untied his pants and let them drop without a moment’s hesitation. He wore nothing beneath.
She was no connoisseur of the male form, but his was ... perfection. There was no other word for it. Trim hips, strong legs, and ...
Oh my. Her cheeks heated. She knew she should look away, but she was caught, trapped within the spell of his male beauty. As she stared at him, his male parts, which hadn’t started out particularly aroused, grew. And grew. Longer, thicker, until he was fully, gloriously, horrifyingly erect.
Her pulse began to race. Her body melted, turning warm and soft. And damp.
He didn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. And it was minutes before she realized he was watching her watch him. Her gaze shot to his face, her cheeks flaming.
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