Besieged Heart (No Ordinary Lovers Collection)

by Blake, Jennifer

  There were other restrictions, most of them concerned with life and human emotion.

  He could not conjure up something from what wasn’t there, so could not supply food for the hungry mouths at the besieged castle.

  He could delay birth or death for a few hours but not forever.

  He was powerless to create life or end it by magic alone, so could not cause the death of the baron solely by his will, no matter how much he might crave that ability.

  He could not prevent hate, greed, rapacious desire or other base faults, therefore could not stop war.

  He could not make anyone fall in love. No, nor out of love, either.

  Including himself.

  Once, in a moment of despair, he had asked his father for some spell or potion to make himself irresistible to the princess.

  “Think carefully on this wish,” the old man had answered in gentle chiding. “Would you be happy with a heart won by such a trick? No, you could not be, for what can be gained by such means may be lost in the same way. Love would become a commodity to be bought and sold, rather than life’s rarest gift. Seek not, then, to compel it. Love must be freely given or it has no value.”

  His father had been a wise man, but he had never been compelled to stand by while the woman he loved contemplated giving herself to a bloodthirsty madman. If love could not be commanded, Rayne thought, perhaps respect—laced with a little awe—would be enough. He had to try. There was no other way.

  Shifting his weight, he leaned over Mara, supporting himself on one elbow. His gaze roved over her face, skimming the high cheekbones, the gracefully arched brows, the straight nose and tapered chin. The curves of her lips had the tender texture and soft color of rose petals.

  Temptation stirred, stretched, broke its time-worn bonds. He dipped his head and brushed his lips across the shell-like arc of her ear, tasted the smooth flesh of her cheek, settled gently on her mouth.

  She stirred, sighing as she eased closer against him.

  Panic surged through his veins. He drew back and remained stone still while his heart hammered against the wall of his chest.

  She did not wake. Rayne closed his eyes and softly released his breath. With exquisite care, he lowered his body to the coverlet and rested his head on the pillow, the same one on which she lay.

  A lock of golden-brown hair drifted across his lips, stirred by a breeze from the open window. Not for the whole world and everything in it would he have brushed it away.

  ~ ~ ~

  A cracking explosion brought Mara upright out of bed. She stood in the middle of the strange room, disoriented and trying desperately to shake off the remnants of sleep as deep as death.

  The echoes of the mysterious sound died away. She glanced around her. It was early morning, for a glimmer of light shone around the edges of the window curtains. She was alone.

  That was just as well, for the robe she had been given, with its odd front closure, had fallen open to the waist. She folded it closed over her chest, snugging it tight at the waist with its cloth belt. With the ends in her hands, she paused.

  Somewhere in her slumber had been a fleeting dream with a promise of joy. She could not quite recall it, but she felt its loss just the same.

  The chemise, tunic, and mantle she had worn on her arrival in this strange place had been cleaned and left lying across the foot of the low bed. She would like to dress; she would feel much less vulnerable when she had donned proper attire. However, she had noticed no maidservants, in fact, no servants of any kind.

  Her head came up as another explosion sounded, followed by yet another. This was not a plane, or whatever it was Rayne had called the roaring thing in the sky. The noise sounded sharper, more immediate.

  She thought it came from beyond the walls of the house. Her curiosity stirred as the prospect of immediate danger passed. She would like to investigate. Surely she could manage to dress herself without assistance.

  A short time later, she emerged from the sleeping chamber neatly clothed, with her hair captured by a gold fillet she found wrapped in her mantle. The rooms of the house were empty and still. There was no sign of Rayne. Was it possible his absence had some connection with the violent discharges that still shattered the early quiet at close intervals?

  Sunrise was just streaking the heavens in shades of lilac and gold when she stepped outside. She gave it no more than a glance before descending the low steps and following a stone path which led around the house, moving in the direction of the noise.

  Rayne stood in a clearing with the weapon he had carried the evening before raised to his shoulder. It appeared not unlike a catapult, or perhaps one of the small cannonades with handles which the baron had used during the siege. As she approached, Rayne fired it off again in rapid succession.

  Instantly, a paper target in the shape of a man, located many yards away, was perforated at the chest in an overlapping pattern of holes. Mara gasped in amazement.

  That soft sound brought Rayne’s head around. He lowered the weapon, turned to face her.

  “Morning, Princess. Did you have a good night?”

  “Indeed.” It was not a subject she cared to discuss, since she could not remember falling asleep or how she came to be in the exceedingly soft and clean bed where she woke.

  “You’ll want to make yourself some breakfast, I expect,” he went on. “You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen.”

  “Make my—I’m not sure I understand.” There were so many wonders inside the house that she could not begin to conceive of dealing with them.

  “Cook food for yourself. You know, eggs, toast, whatever else you might want. You do cook?”

  Stung by his dry tone, she said, “I was given instruction in the principles of ordering a household, including the preparation of foodstuffs, but you must understand that a princess does not concern herself with the actual labor. Others attend to that.”

  “Yeah? What do you do when no one is around? Sit and starve?” His amusement was obvious.

  “There are always servants.”

  “Well, there aren’t any here,” he said easily. “If you want to eat, you’ll have to whip up something.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  His humor faded. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to go hungry. I fed you last night because you were a guest who had traveled far from all appearances. You look sufficiently rested this morning, and you could be staying a while. I’ll expect you to see after yourself.”

  “Don’t be foolish.” The instant the words were spoken, she wished them back. They sounded entirely too prideful.

  “Oh, yes, you’re royalty,” he said with sardonic emphasis. “I suppose that means it’s beneath you.”

  “Not precisely. You just know more about such things.” It was, for her, a concession to even attempt such an explanation.

  “Not me. Cooking is a woman’s area of expertise.”

  “But not mine,” she said distinctly. “I know diplomacy, court etiquette, the art of conversation and how to embroider tapestry. I can provision a garrison, arrange the storage of grain and cattle paid in tribute, and even repel a siege. But I don’t know cookery.”

  “You’ll learn,” he said, his tone uncompromising.

  She lifted her brows in disbelief. “Because you say it must be so?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You are deluded. I do nothing I have no wish to do. Nor will I stay here where I am ordered about like a skivvy.”

  As she moved to leave him, he stepped to block her way. There was a steady light in his dark eyes and a firm set to his mouth. “You will stay,” he said with grim certainty. “You have no choice.”

  “My good man,” she said with a laugh of sheer surprise, “I am not your prisoner.”

  “No?” Reaching out, he took her wrist, holding it lightly in his supple fingers. “Escape me, then.”

  She met his gaze so close above her. It was as hard as granite and totally implacable. She had an odd feeling that he
could look into her mind, could read her sudden knowledge of how little defense she had against him. Her breath caught in her chest while her heart shuddered in a response not entirely due to anger or fear.

  It was intolerable.

  She set her feet and jerked her wrist, trying to free it from his grasp. His fingers tightened mercilessly.

  The pain was abrupt and excruciating. She felt the bones of her wrist grind together. Her knees grew weak, and she heard a roaring in her ears. She cried out with a thin sound embarrassing in its helplessness.

  She was freed instantly.

  Rayne swung from her, then stood with his shoulders set and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. When he finally spoke his voice was harsh with something that might have been regret, but could as easily have been repressed violence.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you—you try my patience, and I don’t have the time for it.”

  “You don’t have time?” she cried in indignation as she cradled her wrist to soothe the ache. “It’s I who haven’t a minute to waste. While I stand here listening to you prattle of food, my people may be dying. And I am not there. I am not…there.”

  Her voice trailed away, her throat too tight with emotion to continue. She turned from him in a swirl of fabric and walked swiftly to the house before he could see her anguish. For a moment, she feared he meant to follow, but when she reached the cabin door, she was alone.

  By the time she calmed down, she realized her folly. Rayne was right in what he had said: she might well have no choice except to remain here with him. What else was she to do when she knew nothing about this new world with its odd landscape, its peculiar construction materials and fabrics, its frightening weapons and means of locomotion?

  She had to admit the situation just now could have been handled more diplomatically. Yet he had touched her on the raw with his smiles at her expense, his penetrating glances and superior strength. He made her doubt who and what she was, required her to question how she should behave toward him.

  Added to that, he seemed to think he held her captive. He had even put his hands on her in anger.

  What more might he do?

  No. She could not stay. Once she was free of him, she could surely find some means in this land of wonders to return to her rightful time and place.

  For the moment, however, she could do nothing except remain in the house. Not that it was much of a refuge; this Rayne had followed behind her, after all, watching over her like a sheep dog guarding its charge.

  The man broke his morning fast with the juice of golden apples, also with smoked pork strips and eggs in fresh butter. The food was cooked upon a rectangle of white porcelain which grew hot without flame. He toasted perfectly even slices of bread by dropping them into twin slits made in the top of a shining silver urn. Swift and economical in his movements, he operated the peculiar cooking devices with easy competence.

  So absorbed was she in watching him work that Mara almost forgot to be hungry. That was until he slid a laden trencher of porcelain onto the table and sat down before it. There was only one such trencher, and it held everything that been prepared.

  She was to have none of the delicious-smelling fare. He had told her how it would be, and it appeared he meant what he said. Her stomach protested, her very soul cried out for the sustenance.

  She remained silent.

  She thought of rising and making something to eat for herself, but she did not know how the magic of producing heat was performed. To ask Rayne to show her would be to capitulate to his decree, something that she refused to consider. She would survive this torture. She had become accustomed to thin rations during the siege.

  He was enjoying his food; that much was obvious. He ate his meat in large bites, and crushed the toasted bread between white, even teeth. Yet he was not sloppy about it. He used one of the peculiar Italian utensils known as a forchetta, rather than a knife, and he wiped his fingers and mouth with the kind of beautifully dyed linen usually reserved for summer tunics.

  The elegance of his belongings and his manners did not make her think better of him. He was overbearing and lacking in a proper respect. She despised him.

  He also made her uneasy. Never had she been so aware of a man, of his inherent strength and the force of his personality. There was something elemental about him, as if all pretense of conventional behavior had been pared away to reveal dangerous natural instincts.

  In the face of these things, defiance was not just a vital urge but a necessity. She could not, would not, allow him to dominate her. It went against her upbringing. It was contrary to her nature. Most of all, it offended her sense of self.

  He made no effort to speak to her while he ate. It was possible he had nothing to say, but seemed more likely that his silence was meant as a rebuke. She did not mind at all. She would just ignore him. She had decisions to make and plans to perfect.

  Rising to her feet after a few minutes, Mara left the main room and moved down the hallway to the sleeping chamber. She half-expected that Rayne would call her back, perhaps command her to watch him finish his meal. He did not. With a sigh of relief, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

  She moved swiftly to the window and flung the curtains aside. The glass in the frame was like none she had ever seen, as was the wire mesh behind it. Still, the mechanisms to hold them both in place seemed simple enough to manipulate.

  With the window opening clear, she stood listening for a moment. No sound came from the main room. She raised her skirts and put her leg over the window sill.

  Once out of the house, she kept to the edge of the woods, circling so as to remain unseen from the front windows. There was a track she had noticed which led from the house and into the woods. If she followed it, surely it would to connect with a main road which might take her to a village or a manor, or perhaps even the keep of some nobleman. It seemed worth the attempt, as she and Rayne could not, surely, be the only two people in this land.

  Once she reached the track, she set a fast pace, for there was no way of knowing how long it might be before Rayne discovered her absence. She did not doubt he would come after her; his determination seemed of that nature. He meant to best her, seemed to think it his privilege.

  One moment the forest was close around the track, the next she came out into the open. Before her lay a hard, black surface that stretched for a quarter of a mile or more before disappearing over the rise of a hill. It was, she thought, a road rather like the wide, stone-paved thoroughfares left behind in Britain by the Romans, and yet it was more level and far smoother. She stood in frowning amazement as she tried to envision what kind of men and tools had been used to construct such a wonder.

  Then, from some distance down the road, she heard a low, rushing hum. It grew louder with its fast approach, becoming a high-pitched roar. Mara felt a faint vibration under her feet. From over the rise, there came a great metallic vehicle shining silver in the sun.

  It was not a plane, but something else that rolled on think black wheels along the ribbon of hard surface. No, there were two vehicles. One was larger and more bulky than the other, and emitted an even louder roar. The bigger of the two was giving chase to the smaller, bearing down on the other vehicle as if it meant to crush it.

  Mara leaped away from the hard surface and whirled to dash back into the forest’s concealing shade. From the protection of a large tree trunk, she stared warily at the black ribbon while her heart thudded against her rib cage.

  Abruptly, she was caught by one arm, and then flung around so that the bark of the tree scraped her back. A hard body pressed against her, flattening her against the trunk from head to heels. She caught a sharp, gasping breath and held it trapped in her lungs.

  “I should have let them get you,” Rayne said against her ear as the great metal vehicles thundered past them.

  She exhaled in a rush of what might have been relief or shock—or both. Her voice constricted, she asked, “Why didn’t you?”


  “Because,” Rayne answered in low tones as he eased closer still, “I discovered that I want you more.”

  Chapter Three

  Mara drew a swift breath. The words Rayne had spoken were no idle jest or jeering banter. She could feel the truth of them as he pressed his pelvis against her.

  No man had ever wanted her for herself. At least, none had dared show it.

  The baron had certainly harbored no personal desire for her. To him, she was merely a route to power. Marrying her would be a political ploy, bedding her an act no more important to him than pressing his seal into the soft wax at the foot of the marriage contract.

  If other knights and nobles of her court had felt passionate regard for her, they kept it to themselves. There was little benefit to be gained by lusting after a princess. She was not free to bestow her heart, and usually too well-guarded for stolen kisses or secret trysts.

  Until now.

  She was here with Rayne and they were alone. She wondered what he might dare, also whether she had the courage to discover it.

  Where had that impulse come from?

  She could not tell, not while she was trapped by his hard hands and her blood surged in her veins with such a violent, uneven rhythm. Nothing and no one had ever affected her in quite this way.

  “You forget yourself, sir,” she said in husky reproof, and waited for his response in mingled terror and expectation.

  He laughed. “You mean I’m forgetting who you are? It’s hardly likely.”

  “I mean,” she said evenly, “that you forget your place. And mine.”

  He shifted a little to let her feel his arousal more fully. “I have no place here, nor do you. We are only a man and a woman with nothing between us except good intentions and a few rags of clothing.”

  “One of us has good intentions. The other—”