Besieged Heart (No Ordinary Lovers Collection)

by Blake, Jennifer

  “Yes?” he said softly as she cut off what she meant to say.

  The dappled sunlight falling through the tree limbs overhead gleamed in his hair and danced in his eyes. It made him seem like some woodland creature, fierce and a little fey. Also familiar in some elusive fashion. Doubt stirred inside her, but she pushed it from her. He was only an outlaw, after all.

  “One of us,” she said deliberately, “has the intentions and instincts of an animal.”

  His face lost all expression. “Why, Princess,” he said with a sardonic edge to his voice, “you should have told me before. I would have been happy to oblige your natural desires.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Oh, I think you did, sweetheart. And so do I.”

  Holding her gaze, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.

  Warm…his mouth was warm as the fine spring morning, and just as beguiling. Without haste or undue pressure, he teased her lips into exquisite sensitivity, tasting their flavor, the delicate molding and tucked, moist corners. Her lashes fluttered down as a tremor leaped along her nerves, spreading to the deepest reaches of her body. Her limbs, which had been so taut, were suddenly pliant and accepting.

  His lips parted infinitesimally then, and she felt the soft tip of his tongue engage hers in subtle play. Blindly, she followed his lead, enticed by the sweetness, the fine grained abrasiveness, of the tender invasion. From deep inside rose a peculiar, aching excitement. She lifted her hands with a soft murmur, smoothing them over his shoulders and the strong column of his neck before closing her fingers mindlessly on the thick silk of his hair.

  He stiffened with a whispered curse, and then withdrew. So strong was her sense of loss that she kept her eyes closed for long seconds while she sought to banish all sign of it.

  She had wanted him to go on holding her, had not cared what else he might do. He must never know this. She could not hand him that fearful weapon. But how was she to conceal it?

  “I suppose that was a kiss,” she said, assuming a tone of cool irony. “Thank you for the demonstration. I must say it appeared competent. If I should feel the need to have it repeated, I will summon you for the task.”

  Anger darkened his face. She watched it grow and was desolated, but it could not be helped.

  “My kisses are not given on command,” he said, each word slicing like a honed sword.

  “No?” Her reply was soft, but there was barbed certainty behind it. She even smiled.

  “I am my own man. You are my guest—and, yes, my prisoner. If I desire to kiss you, I shall. Otherwise, you will have nothing of me.”

  The words wounded her self-respect. They were meant to put distance between them, she felt sure, but knowing it did not erase her need to retaliate. “You have no right to hold me captive, and I will not submit to it. As for any other indignities, you venture them at your own risk.”

  “Who will prevent me from doing as I please with you?” he demanded. “Who will keep and defend you? Where is your champion?”

  His voice. Beneath the strident anger of it was maddening reason. It was a sound she knew. More than that, he had slipped into a cadence and accent very like her own, or like that of someone she knew well.

  Could it be? Was it possible?

  In icy disdain, she answered, “I am no weakling. I can and will defend myself.”

  An expression of cool determination invaded his features. He reached to take her arm in a firm grip. “Then guard yourself well.”

  She was jerked forward, off balance. At the same time, he bent from the waist to catch her at her midriff and lift her over his wide shoulder. Surprise and the sudden pressure across her abdomen stole her breath. Before she could move or protest, a hard arm clamped around her knees. Rayne settled her with a quick shift then began to walk with long, swift steps back down the track toward the cottage.

  Bouncing upside down, Mara felt the nose-tingling pressure of blood rushing to her head. It combined with her fury and indignation to pound in a blood-red haze before her eyes. She would never forgive him for this indignity. Never.

  She wanted to scream, wanted to kick and beat at the man who held her. She would have liked to order him taken and whipped, then flung into some dungeon.

  The certain knowledge than none of it would help her kept her still. She grasped desperately at the folds of his shirt to steady herself and caught handfuls of firm, warm flesh. She felt him flinch as her nails bit into him, but she did not care.

  “Put…me…down,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He made a deep noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, and leaned with a swooping movement to duck under a tree limb before plunging from the track into woods.

  When she’d recovered her breath from the dizzying swing, she tried again. “Put me down or I’m going to be sick all over you.”

  It seemed he intended to ignore that possibility. They jounced along three more steps, four.

  Abruptly he came to a halt. She was catapulted backward off his shoulder. Arms like iron bands caught her in mid-flight, locking across her back and under her knees. With a jarring swiftness, she was turned and hefted against the board-like musculature of his chest.

  “Better?” he asked in biting politeness.

  It was better, yes, but also far worse. She was more comfortable, but she could see the satisfaction in his face, feel how powerless she was against the superior strength contained in the bands of iron muscles that enwrapped his upper body. She wanted to kill him, yes, but also felt reluctant admiration.

  Mixed with it, if she were honest, was secret anticipation, as well as curiosity that would not be denied.

  “Why? Why are you doing this?” The words, meant to be imperious, came out as a strangled plea.

  He glanced down at her, then away again before he began to walk once more. “Surely you can guess.”

  “I prefer to know.”

  “Ransom, maybe. The pay-off should be considerable for a princess.”

  “I suspected that at first, but now I misdoubt payment is your aim.”

  Watching him, she saw no sign of strain on his features. Neither was there the slightest faltering in his step or weakening in his arms around her. His strength really was exceptional.

  “You don’t seem to know your way around,” he offered almost at random. “You need someone to take care of you.”

  “I suppose you have nothing better to occupy your time?”

  “Let’s say I expect the reward to be worth the effort.”

  “Reward? And what might that be?”

  “It depends. The matter is open for negotiation.”

  There was, she thought, a certain grim evasion in his voice. With great daring, she asked, “Another kiss, you mean, or perhaps more than that?”

  He came to a halt and stared down at her. A fleeting hunger crossed his face, and then was gone. “Whatever pleases you,” he said evenly, “including your own sweet self.”

  The temerity of the man was beyond belief. “Not very likely!” she retorted.

  “We’ll see.” His tone carried an unmistakable threat as well as anticipation of his own.

  Turning her head, Mara saw the cottage was before them. He had taken a shortcut through the woods.

  Inside, everything was just as they had left it: the scraps of his breakfast in the dish, the dish and the eating utensils still on the table. The pan where he had cooked the pork and eggs had cooled, leaving the grease congealed in the bottom.

  “Home, sweet home,” he said as he stood her on her feet, holding her arm to steady her. She drew herself up, turning away in the direction of her sleeping chamber.

  “Hold on.” He tightened his grasp. “I think it would be a good idea if you cleaned the kitchen, then made yourself something to eat.”

  Clean? Cook? They were back to that? It was a far cry from what she had half-feared. She stared at him with disbelief before she spoke. “I am no scullery maid.”

  “We’ve already e
stablished your status, Princess,” he answered with irony. “I’m talking practical measures, here. There’s only one pan, and you need to clean it before you can use it. I’m not going to do it for you.”

  “I don’t require your service, just as I don’t require your food.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “You’re nothing but skin and bones. You must eat.”

  His description of her form was most irritating. She lifted a brow. “My appearance is no concern of yours.”

  “It is if I have to look at you,” he corrected her as he put his fists on his hips. “Will you do as I say, or are you going to make me force you?”

  Her head was high and her gray eyes clear as she faced him. “You may be larger and stronger than I, but there are no means you can use to compel me against my will.”

  “No?” he inquired with soft emphasis.

  “No.” She lifted her chin as she answered, but her voice was not as commanding as she would have liked.

  “You’re dead wrong,” he said, taking a long step closer. “You are in my hands, as surely as if I had captured you like one of your old-fashioned knights or you were compelled to wed me against your precious will. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  She retreated a step, her voice uneven as she said, “Nothing at all, for I refuse—”

  “Refuse by all means, for what good it will do you.” He advanced another long stride so she was forced to back away from him. “You have no defense against me.”

  “I will resist with all my might.”

  “Do that. It will make a fine excuse to strip you naked and beat you.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Her eyes widened as she searched his implacable features. She stumbled backward another step.

  “Wouldn’t I?” His words matched his steady footsteps as he moved after her. “That is only the beginning of what I might do. I could make you walk unclothed before me. I could allow you no privacy while you bathe or attend to nature’s needs. I could make you lie nude beside me in my bed. I could use you as I please, when I please. What,” he finished, leaning toward her as she came up against the edge of the table, “is there to stop me?”

  “Decency,” she said in desperation as she put out her hand to ward him off, her fingertips tingling as she felt the iron-like heat of him through his clothing. “Honor.”

  His smile had a feral edge. “I am not noble, certainly have no royal blood. What have decency and honor to do with me?”

  She had been wrong. He could not possibly be her wizard, as she had come to suspect. Honor had been a by-word with her wizard, honor and caring. If this Rayne had sounded like him for a brief instant, it had been due to no more than his mocking imitation of her own speech.

  She swallowed hard in dismay. Suddenly light-headed, she closed her eyes. She felt so very dizzy. Hunger, that was the reason—certainly it wasn’t disappointment or grief.

  No, it was just that she had eaten so little these past weeks. Even the night before, she had been too exhausted to do more than taste what had been prepared for her. It was stupid, really, to defy her captor over something as necessary as food. She should have chosen her ground more wisely.

  Captor.

  What a bitter taste the word left upon her tongue.

  She wanted to fight him tooth and nail, but it would do no good. She could not defeat his hard strength if he chose to use it; she had few illusions on that score. In which case, it would be best if she did not compromise her dignity by giving him reason to lay hands on her.

  She must surrender to his demands; there was no other way. She would survive the damage to her pride, without doubt, but could she endure the humiliation of soul?

  She moistened her lips, said, “If I agree—”

  “No conditions,” he said. “They will not be met. Such things never are.”

  She looked away from him, struggling to find the words to appease him. At the same time, a great desolation rose inside her, and she felt the acid sting of tears behind her eyes. There had been such promise in the thought that this Rayne might be her wizard.

  Now it was gone.

  The glaze of hardness faded from his face. He eased away from her, though without giving her room to escape. “Yes,” he said quietly, “bowing to pressure is sometimes the wiser course. Retreating leaves you free to fight another day.”

  It was a gesture of unexpected consideration and understanding. She turned her head, searching his strong features.

  His lashes came down over his eyes, shuttering them. “The pan first,” he said, and there was no compromise in his voice.

  She hardly knew where to begin. But as she carefully called to mind Rayne’s earlier movements about the kitchen, she soon figured out how to raise the lever of the apparatus above the double basin to make the water flow, and also where to find the colored scouring sand.

  Rayne, who had seated himself at the table, prompted her from time to time. As she began to cook, he provided detailed instructions on where the food was kept in the white metal box that was somehow cold inside, and how to release the pork and eggs from their indestructible packaging. He also told her what to do to produce heat from the white ceramic rectangle set into the long work area.

  A flush of irritation rose to her cheekbones now and then for the faintly superior tone of his voice. She also suspected he was laughing at her behind his bland expression. It seemed unfair—she couldn’t help it if she had no skill at these tasks. People weren’t born knowing such things. Besides, she had always been too busy. So much of her life had been taken up by her duties.

  Duty, always duty. It was a word that had been hammered into her from childhood. There had never been time for nonproductive chores, for play or friendship or, later, the pleasures of flirtation; she was lacking in skill in all these things, especially the last. She had formed the usual unsuitable attachments of young girls, but there had been no time to dwell on such minor infatuations. They had passed, all of them. Except for one.

  She had long been intrigued by her wizard. His presence near her gave her secret pleasure; the deep vibration of his voice alone sometimes affected her with a low, sweet thrill. She relied on his view of the world, sought his counsel when she was troubled, summoned him for the comfort of speaking her mind and knowing that no one else would ever hear what had passed between them. He was hers and she knew it, depended on it, could not bear for it to be any other way.

  Now and then, she was possessed by the insane need to rip away the cowl and robe that concealed him and force him to face her, to allow her to see him as he truly was. She never quite dared. It was not that she feared what he might look like. Rather, she was terrified that if she exposed him, he would leave her. The concealment he wore was for their mutual protection; it placed a physical barrier between them so they might come close in spirit.

  If it was not there, then everything would be changed. Still, she had often thought—even dreamed—of what he might be, how he might appear.

  Yes, she had wondered. Now she had to be absolutely sure.

  Taking up an egg to crack it into a bowl, she looked across at Rayne with a searching and pensive gaze. “Who are you really?” she said. “What is your rank?”

  Rayne was silent for the space of a long breath. There was a delicate purpose in her tone that made his stomach muscles contract as though absorbing a blow. His voice turned sardonic as he sought an answer.

  “‘Rank?’ All right, I’ll bite. I have none, and no use for it.”

  “Everyone has it whether they accept it or not,” she said with a frown. “It’s a matter of birth.”

  “A man is what he makes of himself here, no matter how he was born.”

  The look she gave him was doubtful, but she didn’t argue. “Where are your people?”

  “I have none.”

  “You were an orphan,” she said thoughtfully. “A foundling, perhaps?”

  He could not refuse to answer. “My parents were a couple of crazy kids
who had no business making a baby. I was put up for adoption.”

  She gave him a narrow look before she busied herself, removing the bacon from her pan and pouring eggs into the hot fat to scramble them. When she spoke again, it was without looking at him.

  “In the land where I live, there was once a fine and powerful knight who loved a beautiful nun. He lay with her one day in the woods, and a child was conceived. The nun was sent in secret to a more strict order where prayer and solitude formed her days. When the knight learned of the nun’s disgrace, he renounced his title and estates to his brother, then went on crusade as penance for his misdeed.”

  “A dumb thing to do,” Rayne said in disdain. “Your fine knight should have stayed to protect the lady.”

  “It was a moral question,” Mara said with a quick shake of her head. “He felt he had no right to happiness as he had trespassed against his own code as well as the laws of God—but never mind. While in the land of the Saracens, the knight died. The nun, hearing of it, was distraught. She wandered away from the convent into the hills when her time came upon her. She gave birth to her child in a cave, and there she also died.”

  Rayne knew he must at least try to deflect her. “Do all your stories have sad endings?”

  “This one is not a total tragedy,” she answered in calm perseverance. “The babe, a fine boy, was found by a wise old wizard who took him as his son. This wizard taught the child all he knew, and then set him free in a library of books from the ancients to learn what else he might.”

  “Touching,” Rayne said. Taking his courage in his hands, he added, “So what became of boy?”

  “He grew into a fine man, a wizard of great wisdom like his foster father. He offered, once, to kill his uncle, his father’s brother, for me.”

  “A bit unnatural of him, surely?” Rayne watched as she transferred her cooked eggs to her plate with wincing care.

  “Not at all.” She picked up her plate and brought it to the table. “This uncle, Baron Ewloe, is a man of cruelty and boundless ambition. He gained his title from his brother who died in the crusade—the young wizard’s father, you see—whom some say the baron encouraged to go and fight the Saracens. It wasn’t enough for him. The baron also wanted my brother’s throne. He besieged the castle while Prince Stephen was away, seeking to use me to obtain his prize.”