by Jaide Fox
"Ah, but then we live in a strange world, do we not? And it is becoming stranger all the time." He smiled faintly at her. "Drink your chocolate," he ordered.
With raised eyebrows, she complied and said, "I thank you for your hospitality, milord."
"You're very welcome. Not often that I can welcome such a beauty as yourself into my home and without the matchmaking mamas and old tabbies coming along for the ride, as it were."
Despite his loose words, she had a feeling that she was entirely safe with him. Why, she did not know for certain. Although Isabeau had the feeling that she was stamped with the mark of Wolfe's possession and that to this man, was stronger than any attraction he might have felt for her.
Whilst she did not appreciate it, if it kept her safe from the man before her, then she was grateful. She did not doubt that were she not stamped as such, he would have been ripping through her petticoats and fondling her as soon as he'd settled the salver upon the bed. Instead he had shied away from her.
Why he had done so, she didn't know, but again, was glad of it. Wolfe's possession, she might be to this man, but surely placing a tray upon her lap was hardly dangerous! Was she that great a temptation?
She ducked her head into the large pot of chocolate to hide her face and the huge grin that had two dimples cutting into the soft flesh of her cheeks.
Her eyes flickered over the expensively decorated room, the lusciously appointed antiques, the gilt etchings and protruding plasterwork on the walls. She looked up at him and said, "It seems that Wolfe has a generous friend indeed. I can but hope that he is generous with me."
"That is something that we all wish for, is it not? Generosity from those who are stronger, or more powerful than us. I'm sure that Wolfe Sinclair will not...disappoint."
She frowned at his words, but watched as he collected the tray, bowed low over it and at her, then walked towards the door. It swung cleanly open and then shut.
Isabeau's eyes narrowed as she tried to translate the conversation into something that was more understandable. She had the feeling that he had almost been speaking in a code of some sort, but she knew that was ridiculous. It had not been a code, simply the fact that he was withholding information from her and either purposely or inadvertently, kept slipping tidbits to her.
Either way, she felt more confused than ever and after spending the entirety of the ride towards this manor house, in a state of befuddlement, Isabeau realized that she was damned tired of feeling that way!
Be it confused about the strange and bewitching sensations her captor inspired in her. Or about his role in her parents' deaths or whether he was the elusive someone she had been running from these last four years.
Isabeau wanted answers and knew she wasn't about to receive any.
She settled back into her gilded cage with a sigh. Her shoulders were swallowed by a feather pillow and slowly she felt herself drift off to sleep.
Her mind felt heavy, filled with weight and her limbs were somehow similarly indisposed. Every inch of her felt drowsy and with a soft, sleepy smile, Isabeau realized that this was how it felt to be drugged.
She was far too tired and far too fatigued to care that the food had been poisoned with some kind of sleeping draft. The only thing that disturbed the happy haze circling her being were the shots of pain that her ring directed along the length of her forearm. Like stinging barbs, akin to the pins and needles that besieged a numb foot, they were most uncomfortable and difficult to ignore.
Isabeau knew from long experience that it was a warning signal. That impending danger was heading her way. But a sluggish lethargy was gradually creeping through her veins and her eyelids felt as though they were weighted down with anchors.
As they finally slipped down and covered the balls of her eyes, she both heard the click of the door opening and saw a dirty and bedraggled head walk into her chamber.
Rather than react with fear, she felt fearless and protected by the acres of space between the door and the bed upon which she was laying. Nothing could harm her, when she felt like a cream-sated cat...Especially when it was only a floating head...
Chapter Three
A slight tug of her finger was enough to jolt Isabeau from her hazy, drug induced slumber. When seconds later, that was combined with a bolt of power from the ring snapping torturous shards of pain along the nerve endings of her arm, she instinctively flung herself backwards and away from the threat, whatever it was, before her eyes had even opened fully.
When her torso hit the bed head, Isabeau grunted as the connection felt almost as though she had jarred every organ in her damned body. She grimaced as her elbow started to tingle and ache as she had inadvertently knocked the so-called funny bone on one of the wooden carvings that decorated the piece of furniture and now, thoroughly aggrieved she turned to stare at whatever was threatening her.
Shocked to see it was a man, who was glaring angrily back at her, Isabeau licked her lips in confusion, aware that whilst she knew she was in danger because the ring had told her so, she wasn't entirely sure why.
Blearily, she tried to remember which finger had been tugged and quickly realized that it had been her ring finger.
Did he want to steal it from her?
Was that the reason for his being here?
She studied his dirty and greasy appearance with distaste and wondered if he was one of Wolfe's men. He had to be, for how else would he have managed to gain entrance here?
Suddenly, her thoughts came to a halt as the intruder jumped forward and landed on the bed before her. His hand reached out for her right arm and he yanked her forward and away from the wooden bed head.
She screamed and hoped to the Goddess that someone would hear and come and help her, but was quickly hushed with a fist to the face. When her jaw snapped together from the force of his punch, her teeth felt almost as though they wobbled in her mouth.
The force of the blow had her head feeling as though it had parted from her neck, as it seemed to roll against her shoulders to an absolutely impossible angle. The momentum of the move had her pistoning partially backwards, but the man's grip on her had her also moving forwards. The discordant and agitated maneuvers made her feel like a rag doll that was being tugged apart by bickering sisters who refused to share.
The trespasser pushed her down against the mattress, ignoring her kicking legs, and pressed his forearm against her throat. It was enough to stun her into silence.
His hand wrenched at her ring finger and she let out a whining cry as the joint popped. Again, the man attempted to tug at the ring and he started to swear as the precious metal stayed glued to her skin.
Isabeau felt sure that he would realize the ring was meant to stay upon her finger and leave before he could be caught in the act of trying to steal from her. But there was an air of desperation about him that made her feel ten times worse about the situation. Desperate men were far more dangerous than their calmer, saner counterparts.
And she was right to feel concerned, as moments later, she felt the tip of a dagger scrape against her skin. Isabeau whimpered but forced herself to quiet down. Although she realized that he wanted her to not make one jot of sound, she couldn't stop herself from asking him, “What do you want?”
With the pressure on her throat, the words were distorted, but understandable.
He grunted and proceeded to scowl down at her with rheumy and bloodshot eyes. Obviously he hadn't expected her to talk to him and she watched and cringed as his fingers worked at the ring that sat regally upon her hand. The tip of the knife was now being used as a lever. Isabeau's cries rang out as he attempted to lift the metal from her flesh with the dagger and then came the restless tugs.
It had been there for such a long time and had never been removed that she knew it would almost be indented on to her skin.
When her mama had given this ring to her, Isabeau had watched as she had slipped it off her finger after dousing the small digit in oil and had wiggled it off eventually before hand
ing it to her. There had been a whiter tone of flesh, which had been protected from the sunlight by the ring and the skin had been almost shriveled in comparison to the other sun-kissed areas.
Without oil or some kind of lubricant, that ring was going nowhere. It made her feel both triumphant and fearful.
The man was yielding a knife, for Goddess' sake. He could easily cut her finger off! The more restless and agitated he became and the longer the ring stayed glued to her, the sooner he would react and do just that. She would lose both her finger and the stone!
The thought made her feel slightly faint and combined with another dig of the knife into her thin flesh, it was enough to make her cry. “I can't take it off. It won't come off!”
“There are ways and means, wench,” the man replied gruffly and when he tried to pull her fingers apart so that he could slide the dagger down the length of the digit, she yelled out hoarsely again.
Realizing that this situation could only worsen, Isabeau knew that she had to do something. It was no good waiting to be rescued and in this position, he was the dominant one.
When his forearm had been used to press against her throat and subsequently weigh her down, her body had instantly loosened and become lax. If she could urge her strength back and manage to push away from him, then she could at least try and defend herself.
Garnering her courage, she simultaneously urged strength into her stomach and neck and powered upwards. Almost managing to butt him in the head! Success! Then she pushed all of her remaining reserves into her right arm, where she eventually managed to tug her hand away and out of his captive hold. Hissing as the blade cut at her flesh yet again, but even deeper this time, Isabeau ignored the pain and instead struck the man on the side of the head with her balled fist.
With her other hand, she slapped him and pushing her legs out, ultimately managing to kick him in the gut. He'd been so focused on her hand and obtaining the ring that he'd left himself open to being attacked. He had probably believed that she would not make a fuss.
That she was just a little woman.
The thought made her snigger inwardly.
She was ten times more than just a little woman. Life had forged her into the creature she was and at times like these, when she was in danger, she could and would turn into a wild cat.
Isabeau had soon discovered that the lessons her mother had taught her, lessons in which she had learned to be a lady, were of no use to her as she fled those who had killed her parents.
An inner wild cat was and had always been vital to her protection during the years in which she had been alone. With no man or family to guard her and keep her safe.
She curled her fingers inwards and clawed at him with her nails and when his fist came up to punch her once more, she ducked her head and quickly surged up again, catching the flesh of his forearm with her teeth. She bit down and felt gleeful as he screamed and yelled out like a girl.
When Isabeau heard the door open, she almost fainted in relief. Adrenaline was surging through her but it counterbalanced whatever they had given her to make her sleep and had left her feeling most peculiar. She felt both dazed and filled with energy. The combination was extremely bizarre and she wasn't sure how long she would be able to defend herself in the state of mind in which she currently inhabited.
A fist came out of nowhere and was aimed once more at her jaw. She grunted and released the flesh of the intruder's forearm and cried out as pain seemed to blossom throughout her skull.
Her fatigued eyes saw Wolfe appear and she shuddered and felt consoled as his fierce face came ever closer into her line of sight and suddenly, the intruder was pulled from her.
So rough was Wolfe's hand on the man's shoulder, he not only fell to the floor but he almost completed a full circle as he turned in mid-air and finally, landed with a splat on the hard floor.
Instantly, he was hauled upwards and Wolfe's fist slammed into the intruder's face. Somehow, even though he must have been in pain, he managed to hit Wolfe in the stomach, but Wolfe seemed almost impervious to this act. He did not even grunt!
Grabbing the man's fist, she watched as her savior simply clenched it between his own and within seconds, the intruder was crying out in pain and begging for surrender.
She watched in surprise as Wolfe slowly released the hand and the man tugged it against his chest and began to nurse his bruised and battered fist. Isabeau winced when she saw the somewhat mushy pulp. The skin was not broken, but the fingers were...most un-finger-like. They were broken in places that she hadn't known the digits could be broken, but she could easily understand why the man had conceded defeat.
“Jaegar sent you, did he not?” Wolfe growled, and it was a growl. One of which even his name-sake would have been proud! It rumbled deep from within the cavern of his chest and had she not known it and been able to see it on his face, that tone of voice instantly informed her that he was extremely angry.
Furious.
The man whimpered but nodded.
“Speak! When I ask you a question! Speak!” Wolfe ordered gruffly and shook the man, who immediately whimpered as it jolted the battered fist that lay limply upon his chest.
“Please,” his voice was hoarse and filled with pain. Had he not been about to slice off her finger and all for the ring that sat upon it, she would have felt a great welter of sympathy for the man. As it was, he was probably experiencing the same amount of pain he would have willingly bestowed upon her.
Although she had never believed in the Biblical reference of an eye for an eye, at this moment, with her face aching and the bones in her body literally vibrating with pain, she did! Call her harsh, but she did not care.
“Yes, Jaegar sent me!” the intruder responded finally.
“What for?” Before the other man could speak, Wolfe turned to her and asked, “What did he do to you?”
“He wanted the ring and was willing to separate my finger from me to gain it!” she replied bitterly.
“Why does Jaegar want the ring?” he demanded and in that instant, Isabeau realized how attractive he was. In the full light of day, he was even more magnificent than she had ever suspected.
Isabeau closed her eyes at the inappropriateness of her feelings at this current moment, but was unable to help her reaction to this strident display of supreme masculinity.
His blacker than black hair literally glinted in the daylight and beneath the sable locks, were a myriad of other colors. A deep red, that in certain lights, gave his hair a look of the richest mahogany. There was a blue that reminded her, although it was an unpleasant comparison, to that of a bluebottle's sheen.
When she had earlier thought that his friend's hair and her own were of the light and he of the dark, she realized that whilst it was true, there was a life of its own to Wolfe's head of hair.
His jaw was stubbled and he looked tired and weary. She realized that either her theory of his disliking the day was true and that was the reason for his fatigue, or it was false and he was simply tired after riding the whole night and falling asleep in the late morning. That made perfect sense and when she had watched him defend her and attack the intruder, he had looked in the rudest of health.
When he looked at her, she saw the steeliness of his character in that firm jaw and his eyes were the darkest brown she had ever seen. They were so dark that one could not even see the central circle in the orb. But, they were almost like velvet. Silken like the most beautiful of fabrics.
Perhaps that was rather an overstatement, but it was her opinion. He had beautiful, if unusual, eyes.
He had the appearance of a dark God and although it didn't surprise her, because last night she had realized how attractive she found him, a part of her had hoped that he would look like the monster she believed him to be.
She licked her lips as the man on the floor seemed to shrink in on himself as he replied simply, “It is powerful.”
