"I hope to God you don't rust in the rain," Douglas said softly.
Dainty swallowed, needing forgiveness. "Sir—"
Douglas turned away, his eyes narrowing in speculation. "Aidan has almost reached Rowena's stone. Do you remember our first raid on Cartagena?"
"You want me to wait here?" Dainty said in disappointment.
"Only until I enter the cave and flush them out." His teeth showed in an arrogant grin. "Then you may put your incredible arsenal to the test."
The icy terror had begun to melt the moment Rowena recognized Douglas galloping across the moor like a mythical warlord conjured from the mists of time. His shoulder must pain him, she thought. But watching him on the stallion, his controlled strength, one would never guess he had battled death only days ago. His dark figure dominated the barren landscape.
His black hair fell on his broad shoulders. He was looking at her. Even though it was too far to see the details of his face, Rowena sensed his anger and determination, and she drew upon his power to fuel her own dwindling courage.
A week ago, playing along with his masquerade, she might have expected this man to pray for the souls of her captors. Remembering how he had fought Neacail of Glengalda, however, she knew him more than capable of a brutal counterdefense.
She shivered, from cold and nervous anticipation. Rain struck her face and trickled down her throat. Thankfully she had not been violated. Eachuinn, thinking of the ransom, had refused to let the others touch her. He had struck her once, though, in a temper when he removed her rings and she had unwisely scratched his face. A bruise throbbed on her cheekbone. He had shredded her shirts and petticoats with his dirk, mocking her disheveled state.
Numbness had penetrated to her bones, her rope-bound ankles and wrists. The rain seemed to be easing, but the wind was worse, chafing her skin. Hurry, my lord.
Douglas had disappeared behind the outcrop of bare rocks that sprouted at the base of the hill. So had Dainty. Their horses were hidden beneath the shadows of a rocky overhang. Relief shuddered through her body as she looked down and saw Aidan crawling on his belly through the stones, a dagger in his teeth.
"Do not move, lady," he said in a precise voice below her. "Pretend to stare straight ahead."
Her stomach knotted as one of the outlaws swaggered to the mouth of the cave. He glanced up in appraisal at Rowena. Then he studied the sullen landscape as if searching for a sign that their bait had been taken.
A princess tied to a stone like a sacrifice. She swallowed over the lump of fear and indignation in her throat.
The outlaw looked at her again, taking a long swig of aqua vitae from a bottle. They had sent a message to the castle and clearly expected a response.
"There now," Aidan said very quietly. "He's gone back inside to enjoy the warmth of his fire before the Dragon dispatches him to an even hotter place. I am going to cut your ropes with great care. Pray do not move."
She exhaled in painful breaths. If she moved, she feared she would shatter like fine Chinese porcelain.
"Stay exactly as you are until I tell you otherwise," he continued in that even tone. "Then you must take cover behind the stones."
She ground her teeth together. She didn't even blink in acknowledgment, although tears of relief gathered in her eyes. Aidan slipped away, and before she could flex her fingers, Douglas sprang up from the concealing rocks and burst inside the cave.
Hoarse shouts of surprise from the outlaws blended into the quiet roar of the wind. Every so often she heard the clash of steel against steel, a frightened oath.
It became hard to obey Aidan's order, especially when the fighting moved outside. Darkness had fallen. Glimmers from the rising moon gave the battle an otherworldly quality. She spotted Jerome chasing a man into a tussock of broom with Frederic's sword. She ached to snatch up a bow to help.
Douglas emerged next from the cave. He slashed at a pair of raiders with sword and dagger like a man possessed by demons. Rowena could almost see the fear and bewilderment on their faces, in their clumsy uncertain counterattack.
Who would expect a dragon to burst into a smoky cave to confront four armed men? They must wonder if he were inhuman, a devil, and if she were indeed a witch who served him.
The former Earl of Dunmoral had never raised a twig in his own defense. Surely they asked themselves who this broad-shouldered foe was who'd sprang forth from the rocks like Bran, Celtic God of the Underworld.
Not a legend.
Not an ordinary Highland laird.
Whoever he was, Rowena knew he hid a very great heart behind his masquerade, and neither she nor his people could afford to lose him. The true legend of this man would not be based on his piracy. 'Twould come from his compassion and courage.
Douglas would have paid a princess's ransom to have an artist on hand to record this battle. He wanted a sketch of the raiders' faces when Dainty came thundering toward them on his horse, swinging the morning star over his bald head like a crazed conqueror.
The first victim fell at Douglas's feet, whimpering, "Lord save us. We only did as we were told."
His companion struggled to swing his claymore at Dainty's huge legs. Douglas turned away as the morning star caught the man in the chest, crushing lung and ribcage.
He found three more men hiding behind the rocks before one ran away. He took care of the other two by himself, but the stitches in his shoulder had reopened. Furthermore, he had not caught Neacail. Pain and anger rendered his mood foul and unforgiving.
And there was Rowena to be dealt with. He scowled up at the Witching Stone, signaling to Aidan that it was safe to bring her down.
Safe in one sense of the word. She was safe from the outlaws, but not from him. Douglas felt like paddling her royal posterior with his bare hand.
She looked amazingly dignified as she paused to straighten her shredded skirts before climbing down the hill, and this too angered him. His insides felt raw. The woman could not know the agony he'd suffered as he searched the moor. She had no idea he'd half expected to find her body, like Frederic's, in a pile of rocks.
She had no idea that if he had found her dead, he would not have wanted to live himself.
"Good work, Aidan," Douglas said quietly as the man walked toward him. "Why has the princess not come down yet?"
"I think she needed a moment to herself, sir."
Douglas nodded, then looked back up at the standing stone, horror deepening his voice. "Oh, my God," he said. "Rowena."
Eachuinn, Neacail's older brother, had not run away like the other cowards. Instead, he had taken advantage of the fighting to climb stealthily to the standing stone from the other side of the hill.
He rose unnoticed in the dark. He drew his dirk from his hose and held the blade across Rowena's throat, shouting out into the eerie aftermath of the storm. "Drop yer weapons, or I'll kill her. And bring me that horse."
Aidan looked up, his face unreadable, and let several long moments pass before his sword slid from his hand.
Dainty dismounted, shedding weapons. He walked his horse to the bottom of the hill, his gait measured and deliberate.
"Hurry the hell up!" Eachuinn cried, his cheek pressed into Rowena's hair. "The other man, too. All three of ye. I counted three."
Jerome looked at Aidan and then threw down his sword, his young face white with dread.
A droplet of blood ran down Rowena's neck. She did not breathe. Nor did Eachuinn for very long after that. A scrolled dagger flashed, and the man sagged against her for a second before he collapsed, his sightless eyes staring up at Douglas's unsmiling face.
Aidan flicked her a curiously approving glance as he climbed toward her. "For a woman, you understand the power of silence."
"I understand nothing," Rowena whispered, leaning back against the stone to let the cold wind wash over her shivering body. "I was too afraid to say anything."
Then Douglas was towering over her, his face raw and implacable. "I do not appreciate this," he said, flin
ging a plaid over her narrow shoulders.
Rowena was indignant. "As if I got myself captured on purpose."
He wasn't about to humiliate himself by admitting how helpless he had felt. He wouldn't let her know he'd almost lost his self-control when Eachuinn had held the knife to her throat. The scene was imprinted on his mind like a scar. His knees had nearly buckled under his weight.
He would not further weaken his image by admitting that the smear of blood on her throat made him sick to his stomach. He did not even ease her anguish when she said in despair that Frederic was dead. Caring about her had rendered him soft inside. Yet that was the way of it. Self-disgust shook him to the core.
He walked away while she wept. He would resist the unmanly temptation to gather her into his arms and offer comfort. Especially with Aidan and Dainty watching to witness this weakness. Still, her quiet sobs struck at his heart.
"Sir," Aidan said in question, glancing at Rowena alone on the hill.
"Tell her that her advisor still lives if you like," he said wearily. "I am too angry to give solace."
He rode hard into the black rain that had started to fall again, Rowena a stiff bundle in his arms. When it became impossible to continue, he stopped to take shelter in the abandoned abbey. Dainty, Aidan, and Jerome fanned out on the mud-swollen grounds to stand guard. The horses were hobbled in the drainage ditch.
Douglas took Rowena into the ruins of the abbey refectory. Using Aidan's ax, he broke up a pinewood stool. With every chop, Rowena flinched. This made him chop all the harder. Then he started a fire in the hollowed stove pit of what was once a hearth. A ball of dead furze served as kindling.
Rowena neatly laid her sodden shoes and cloak by the fire to dry. Her face composed, she twisted some bracken into a makeshift broom and began to sweep rubble and shards of stained glass into the corner. Rain dripped down from various holes in the collapsed roof.
Douglas frowned disapprovingly at this domestic activity. "Are we expecting the royal family, Rowena?"
She stopped her sweeping. "I did not want you to tread on broken glass with your big feet, my lord."
He stretched out before the fire. "A pity you did not consider my well-being when you caused me to lose the fight to Neacail," he said in an admonishing voice. "Or when you disobeyed me."
Rowena marched over to him, the broom in hand. "Do you always blame others for your woes? 'Tis not my fault you failed to catch this villain."
It was the wrong thing to say. Douglas sat up with an angry grunt as his plaid came unfastened at the shoulder. "I would have caught him if I hadn't been playing the buffoon to impress you."
She stared in concern at the dark blood seeping through his shirt. "Why would you want to impress me?"
Douglas saw no point in lying. It had brought him naught but trouble. "At first, I had my eye on your fortune."
Rowena leaned forward to unravel his plaid, chewing her lip as she worked the wool free from his wound. "What were you planning to do with it? Fund a raid on Maracaibo with Henry Morgan?"
"God's bones." Douglas stared down fiercely at her face as she began unbuttoning his shirt. " 'Tis unfitting that you know more about my life than I do."
"The Dragon of Darien is discussed in every salon in Europe," she said softly.
He caught her slender wrists in his hand. "Was discussed. No one believes in dragons anymore."
"They do not appear to have much respect for princesses either." She glanced down ruefully at her ruined skirts, her smoky voice subdued. "I would have given you the money."
Douglas swallowed, releasing her wrists. Damn, but he could feel his anger dissolving, and he was not yet prepared to forgive her. "I doubt Prince Randolph would have approved. A princess aiding a pirate."
"My mother left me a great inheritance in jewels. 'Tis my fortune to do with as I please."
He shuddered as her fingertips danced up his arm, circling the iron-hard muscles of his biceps. "I do not desire your money, Rowena."
"What do you desire, my lord?"
His strongest desire, in truth, was to bed her, on the dirt floor of this ruined abbey. He desired both her submission and her spirit. He ached to touch her all over, to taste her, to admit that she had captured him. He ached to worship at her feet and conquer her at once. His breathing quickened at the thought of it.
"I made plans to deceive you," he said starkly. "Your money was meant to help my village. Yet I did not plan well enough, it would seem.
"I did not plan to lose my heart to you the very evening we met," he went on. "But there it is, lady. The truth, perhaps for the first time in my damnable life. I love you."
She grinned. "Then all is well between us. I love you, too."
"Not quite," he said with a black scowl. "You disobeyed me. I will not tolerate this. You were told not to leave the castle."
"I was worried about Frederic."
"You should have worried more about me," he said arrogantly. "You should have worried about how I would choose to discipline you. No one may stay with me who disobeys."
Rowena's eyebrows arched. "Shall I leave now?"
He shifted forward, his big frame blocking the fire's light. Darkness engulfed her. She could see his pulse beating in the base of his brown throat. His scowl of displeasure made her shiver. So did the dangerous heat that radiated from his body.
It was at this point that Rowena realized it was time to make her own apology. She should express shame that she'd suspected Douglas was the Dragon all along, and that she had gone along with his masquerade.
But she just couldn't bring herself to apologize. For one thing she was determined to make the most of his contrite attitude about deceiving her.
For another she was afraid of arousing his dragon's fury. Not that she'd thought he'd hurt her. He wouldn't. But he might hurt himself if he worked himself up into another wrathful state.
So she held her tongue. She would tell him about the minister's rumor at a later date. Mayhap after the birth of their third child. Or on the eve of their tenth wedding anniversary. When he was too tired to get worked up.
"You will stay with me," he said.
"Make up your mind, my lord. You just told me I cannot stay unless I obey you."
He smirked as if the matter were settled. "You will stay and obey."
"I think this bears further discussion," she said diplomatically.
"You cannot leave me." This time it was not an order, but the plea of a proud man who was not accustomed to begging.
He leaned away from her.
Rowena lowered her eyes, peeping up through her lashes as he kicked off his trews and unlaced his brogues. His blood-stained shirt fell at her knees. Then his plaid. The smell of man, of horse and sweat and musk, rose to her nostrils.
She released a deep sigh into the silence. She laced her hands together.
"What are you thinking now?" he demanded.
"That another lie has just been laid bare." She shuddered. "There is not a delicate bone in your body."
He gave her a beguiling smile. "You are shivering. Remove your clothes."
"What?"
"Come under my plaid with me. We will share the heat of our bodies."
"Naked?"
"This is no time for maidenly modesty, Rowena. You have suffered a grave shock today."
"I do not know that cuddling naked with you is going to calm my nerves, Douglas."
"But 'twill warm you," he said with another arrogant grin.
"I have no doubt of that—" She fell back on the palms of her hands as he began to loosen her bodice with alarming expertise. His smile faded as he untied the tapes of her skirts and petticoats and saw the damage done to her. Ugly purple bruises stood out against her skin.
"Sweet Jesus," he said, breathing hard. "When I think of what they did to you, I want to kill them."
She touched his hand, emotion closing her throat as he caught her fingers in his. "You did kill them, my lord. And your men are right now protecting the
village."
He rubbed his thumbs over the rope marks on her wrists. "I wish to kill them again. I wish to make them suffer a hundredfold for daring to harm you."
Afraid of the anger in his voice, she tried to lighten his mood. "You have a definite tendency toward violence, my lord."
"But not where you are concerned." He lifted his black gaze to hers. "I would not hurt you for the world." His voice broke. "For the worst moment of my life, I thought I had lost you."
"Douglas—"
"Do you still want that kiss?" he asked in the seductive voice that few women had been able to resist.
She closed her eyes with a sigh as he laid his hands on her shoulders. Her clothing fell away like a broken shell, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. She had no defenses to fight a man like the Dragon. Nor did she wish him to raise his guard against her again.
She rose onto her knees. He took her face in his hands and kissed her so deeply that she began to shake. His tongue plundered her mouth as if it were one of the treasures he was famous for stealing. Sweet darkness swam in her head before he was finished.
"Are my kisses what you dreamed of?" he demanded in amusement.
She couldn't answer. She just anchored her arms around his waist and hoped he would understand how he had overwhelmed her. She hoped too that he would continue his loving.
Which he did. He cupped the globes of her breasts, sculpting the shape in his palms. He circled her dusky nipples with his fingertips, plucking gently, and her head fell back as indescribable sensation streaked to every secret place in her body. The things he did… his knowing touch, flooded her with dangerous joy. She ached all over with the needs he had aroused.
Her response practically robbed Douglas of his reason. He groaned in sweet agony as her soft breasts brushed his bare arm. He couldn't pretend that kissing her had not affected him. He had been a damned saint for too long. His manhood was in the mood to misbehave.
Delight Page 17
