Her unease grew. These people would help her, wouldn’t they?
Her captor reined in his mount before a two-story, ramshackle tavern; the walls cracked, the door thick and marred by deep gouges, and a sign so battered she could make out nary a letter.
The Scot dismounted. His devil’s black hair slid backward as he reached up and caught her by the waist. He scowled. “Not a word.”
“What is inside?” she asked, the fear in her voice betraying her outward calm.
Irritation dredged deep lines across his brow. “A room we will be staying in for the night.”
Nichola tried to pry away his hands, but her own were shaking. Her reputation would be in ruins if he shared a room with her overnight. If it wasn’t already. And what was his intent toward her once locked within the chamber?
“Please, let me go. I cannot—”
“Silence.” He lifted her from his mount and tugged her toward the entry.
Her aching legs balked as the Scot opened the door and hurried her inside as if familiar with the decrepit building.
Not a good sign.
Her slippers met with the compacted dirt floor as he tugged her forward. The stench of unwashed bodies made her stomach roil. A few tallow candles scattered about offered meager light and added to the foul smell.
Nauseated, she scanned the crowd. To her horror, unkempt men filled the numerous, roughly crafted tables strewn about. Several of the men’s gazes were fixed upon her.
Saint’s breath. Where had he taken her to, a den of thieves? From the appearance of the scruffy lot, they would most likely rape her, not help her escape.
She tried to step back, but the Scot’s grip tightened on her hand.
At his warning glare, several men nearby turned away. “Stay beside me,” her captor hissed in her ear.
As if she dared do otherwise? Icy prickles of fear stabbed Nichola as she kept tight behind the Scot while he wove through the dangerous men. For the first time since her abduction, she found herself thankful for his presence.
Once they’d reached the opposite side of the room, he led her toward a table in a darkened corner where a bald-headed man lurked. As they neared, the man’s beady eyes skewered her with such carnal intent her skin crawled.
The baron’s sister hesitated, and Alexander gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, but he didn’t slow.
Her eyes widened with surprise at his reassurance.
Alexander leaned close to her. “It will be fine, lass.” He saw the doubts in her eyes and regretted having to bring a lady inside this squalid tavern, but he was exhausted and little choice remained. Out in the wilds, anyone might come upon them while they slept. At least here he could keep an eye on her without worry of her escape.
Smothering a yawn, Alexander stopped before the tavern owner. “We will be needing a room.” He disliked Hammet’s overt interest in his hostage, but Alexander had dealt with the tavern owner enough times to know that for the right price, he would see nothing.
From her simple gown and low-cut neckline, Hammet would believe Lord Monceaux’s sister was Alexander’s mistress; the reason he’d chosen to steal the revealing dress. But earlier, when she’d walked from the bushes with her breasts half-exposed, he’d found himself wishing the story was real.
Alexander grimaced. More than three months had passed since he’d bedded a lass, which explained the lust invoked by thoughts of her naked. Once home and free of her, he’d find a woman to ease his need.
Greed danced in Hammet’s beady eyes. “I have a room, but it will cost you.”
“A fair price,” Alexander demanded.
The tavern owner’s mouth thinned. His lewd gaze skimmed over the for-once quiet woman at Alexander’s side, then named a steep sum.
Alexander withdrew twice the amount and tossed it to the man.
Hammet snatched the coins from the air and dropped them inside a scarred leather pouch. “Last room at the top of the stairs.”
“If anyone is asking”—Alexander paused in an unspoken threat—“you have not seen me nor the woman. A man who loses his mistress tends to be ill-willed.”
A sly smile slinked across Hammet’s face. He licked his lips. “‘It is understandable why you took such a risk.”
Lord Monceaux’s sister inhaled a sharp intake of breath. Humiliation stormed his captive’s face. “Why you—”
Blast it, she was going to give him away. Alexander jerked her close and covered her mouth with his own. The fire that ignited between them almost dropped him to his knees. He’d only meant a stifling kiss, but her taste blazed through him; hot, tempting, and searing his every inch. He fisted her hair with his hand and tilted her head back for greater access.
She stiffened against him in outrage.
Alexander took the kiss deeper, needing her compliance. If the men filling the room learned she wasn’t his, they would fight to take her.
At last her body shivered, then she relaxed against him. Her tiny moan of acceptance stole his breath, but her response left him breathless. He took his time now; savoring her taste, the softness of her skin, capturing her every gasp. Needing more, he cupped the nape of her neck to draw her closer.
Ribald laughter and lewd cheers filled the chamber.
Stunned that he’d lost himself in the kiss, Alexander lifted his head. His heart pounding and his breath coming fast, he stared down at his captive; far from appeased to find her gray eyes as wide and as startled as his likely were.
“Aye, the lass keeps a man hard and pleases him well,” Alexander growled out as he reined in his lust. He was not a green lad who became weak-kneed at the taste of a lass. That he’d succumbed to the charms of an Englishwoman drove his shame deeper.
If he could, he’d rid himself of Lord Monceaux’s sister this instant. But the rebels needed the coin her ransom would bring. And he’d given his word to protect her, so that he would.
Alexander pulled her to the stairs. “Stay quiet,” he threatened and nipped at her neck in cover to any who observed their departure.
At the bottom of the steps, she rounded on him, and by the stubborn glint in her eyes, ready to argue anew. Before she could rail at him, he heaved her over his shoulder.
Her scream blended with the rowdy cheers of the men below as he hauled her up the rickety steps. They reached the top of the stairs and thankfully out of view of the very drunk and nondiscriminate crowd below.
She clawed at his shoulder. “Do not rape me!”
Exhausted, his head throbbing from fatigue, he set her down inside the hall, but kept a secure grip on her wrist. Of course she was terrified. He’d abducted her from her home, dressed her in a wanton’s gown and hauled her into a tavern filled with the basest of men. Most noble women would have fainted as they’d stepped inside. That she’d but trembled at the sight of the dangerous men raised his respect for her another notch.
“Lass,” he said softly. “I am going to—”
She tried to rip her hand free, her chest heaving. “Let me go!”
Alexander softened his grip. “I only want sleep.”
His quiet words spilled between them as she eyed him with distrust. With the strength of a saint, he kept his gaze focused on her face and away from the tempting swells below.
She wiped her lips with the back of her hand as if she found his lingering taste offensive. “You let them think me your whore!”
He gave a somber nod. “Aye. Had they known differently, they would have taken you. Or tried.”
Her hand went to her throat. “But you are their enemy?” As if realizing the peril of her condemnation, a flush stole up her cheeks.
“The lot below would not be caring,” he said, matter-of-fact. “As long as they believe you are with me, they will not harm you.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me?”
“That is up to you.” He’d given his word to protect her. He’d not spend all night easing her mind when a bed could be found nearby. Besides, best to let her imagine the wor
st about him, which she probably did. Not that her opinion would deter him from his plan.
Alexander pointed down the corridor. “Move.” When she didn’t budge, he dragged her down the hall.
As they reached the door, she gave his shoulder another hard, desperate shove. “No!”
“No?” Was the lass daft?
“I cannot go in there.”
Through an exhausted haze, he shot her an intimidating glare. “I gave you my word I will not hurt you.”
Panic rimmed her eyes. “I—I do not even know your name.”
He blinked in surprise. She had just now decided that being with him was improper? Laughter tugged at his mouth.
An angry blush streaked up her pale cheeks. “It is not funny.”
“No, lass,” he said tiredly, pulling her against him before she could bolt for the stairs. He immediately paid the price as her slender body wedged intimately against him. Her generous chest rose and fell beneath his gaze, her woman’s scent wrapped around him and her taste lingered in his mouth. His body hardened to a painful ache.
Too easy he imagined himself pushing down the wisp of hindering material to expose her to him, a view he’d seen too clearly when her original gown had become soaked at the burn. The firm, round breasts, the darkness of her nipples that begged for his taste. The curve of her slender waist that led to her womanly charms.
Alexander gritted his teeth. No, this definitely wasn’t a laughing matter.
Shoving the door open, he hauled her inside. The sturdy wooden bed wedged into the corner looked like heaven.
“My name is Alexander.” He closed the door with a firm snap and secured it. “And if you have wits about you, you will not try to run. If you have not noticed, the men below are not a bloody selective lot.”
The lass’s ample endowments and tempting face had already created an unwanted stir of interest. The last thing he needed was further trouble. Until they departed at the break of dawn, he must keep her out of sight.
She remained silent, her gaze wary.
He scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling as lively as wilted heather. All he wanted to do was sleep, but a tug of conscience had him asking, “I know you are the Baron of Monceaux’s sister, but not your given name.”
She hesitated. “Nichola,” she finally replied, her voice as warm as a chunk of ice.
“Now that we have been introduced properly, we can find our bed,” he said in a tone that to him sounded like that of unending patience. With his hand still wrapped firmly around her wrist, he started toward the bed only to have her pull back. He rounded on her. “What now?”
“You are not—I will not share a bed with you. Or this room.” She looked down her dainty, aristocratic nose at him. “It would not be proper.”
“Proper? We are going to sleep.” But the thought of her naked in his bed added to his growing frustration. Damnation!
As if she read the lust in his eyes, her eyes widened. “Let me go.”
Beneath her quiet demand, he saw a reluctant desire to match his own, and his blood pounded harder. He moved his hands up to her shoulders to set her away.
Nichola lowered her gaze. She drew in several slow breaths, her shoulders rising and falling slightly with each. Then she calmed, her breathing growing even. Slowly she looked up.
The innocent yearning in her eyes caught him off guard. Alexander gritted his teeth. He needed sleep, not to be tempted, but he couldn’t help notice how her lower lip trembled, or how her mouth parted; soft, slow in invitation.
On a sultry exhale, her lashes drifted shut. She leaned toward him.
He should leave her alone, they were both tired. But she wanted him. He’d already kissed her once, what harm could another wee kiss bring? Alexander leaned forward and claimed her lips. As before, her taste exploded in his mouth; hot, sweet, and destroying his reserve. Her body relaxed against his. On a groan Alexander released his hold on her and reached to frame her face with his hands.
Gray eyes opened and flashed with defiance a split second before her knee jammed hard into his groin.
Agony seared his every inch, and his legs gave out. He sank to his knees. Bloody hell! On a ragged gasp, he drew in a shallow breath, then another, glaring up at her accusingly.
Panic widened Nichola’s eyes as she stepped back, but triumph flickered there as well.
She took another step back, as if he could catch her? He’d be lucky to move. “Do not”—He gasped for another breath as his body screamed in agony—“try and—”
“Damn you!” She ran to the door, shoved back the latch, jerked the door open, and fled.
Alexander gritted his teeth as he stumbled to his feet. The room blurred.
Rowdy cheers broke out from below.
God no! Cursing the mind-numbing pain, Alexander withdrew his sword and bolted toward the hall.
Chapter Three
Breathless from bolting down the stairs, Nichola stood frozen at the base and stared at the swarm of miscreants before her. A tremor shot through her body. She stepped back.
An inebriated cur grabbed her arm.
Nichola screamed, turned, and lunged toward the scarred door only paces away.
A calloused hand snagged her other arm. “Where do ye think you are going?” A nasty grin curved the foul stranger’s lips, giving her the full effect of yellowed teeth.
She shot him her iciest glare. “Release me!”
His ribald laughter escalated her fear.
She twisted to break free and failed. She should have known that she could never slip through these dangerous men without notice. But with Alexander’s kiss still tingling on her lips, and the shame of her own reaction, all she had been able to think about was escape.
Nichola scanned the sodden crowd for any sign of help. Lust smeared the faces of the rough-looking men. They were going to kill her. No, they’d rape her first, then she would die.
The stranger hauled her against him and tipped precariously with her in his arms. “She is feisty!” he slurred to the crowd.
To his right, a bald man rose. Mugs clattered to the earthen floor as he slapped them from his table. “Put her down here. When you are through, I want a taste of her meself.”
“Bugger off with you,” her captor snarled while he hauled her through the men toward the door. “She is mine.”
Bile surged through Nichola’s body. “Please, release me!”
Bawdy laughter met her terrified plea.
“You can at least be showing us the goods,” a man with sagging jowls yelled from nearby.
Her captor wove, then steadied himself. “Would not mind a look-see meself.”
Before she could evade him, his fingers caught her bodice and ripped it downward, exposing her breasts.
Cheers rose from the men.
“No!” Oh, God! Nichola managed to free her hand. Grasping the neckline, she tugged up her gown.
Her captor clamped one of her hands in a painful grip and leered down at her. “No protector with ye I see. Wear him out did ye?”
Desperate, she raked the nails of her free hand down his cheek.
Blood beaded on his face. “You bitch!” Teeth bared, he lifted his hand to strike.
“Lass!” Alexander’s voice boomed throughout the room. Silence swept the seedy tavern as one and all swung toward the commanding source, who stood at the base of the stairs like a demon capable of trouncing hell.
Alexander shoved his way through the cantankerous men, his gaze never leaving her. “It is a beating you have earned.”
Instead of fear, hope built inside her.
Her captor’s hand had frozen in midswing. He glared at the Scot with murder in his eyes. As though acknowledging the other man’s prior claim on Nichola, the drunkard muttered under his breath and dropped his arm to his side.
Alexander halted before her. The hard angles of his face twisted into a savage mask.
Nichola struggled to preserve her modesty with the torn gown. How had she believed she
would be safer with these men?
“I will not be playing games with you tonight, lass,” Alexander roared.
“I will beat her for you,” a man yelled from the back.
Several men shouted their agreement.
“It is punishment she will get,” Alexander vowed without taking his eyes off of her, “but it will be by my hands. And in private.”
“And after, reaping the rewards,” another drunk sneered, which earned agreeing grumbles from the crowd.
Tension built within the room. Nichola caught her breath. Didn’t Alexander realize these men wouldn’t give her up? That if he tried to take her from them, they’d kill him?
With a slow, covert move, as Alexander glared at the drunk holding her, his hand eased to the hilt of a dagger secured at his belt.
She swallowed hard. Yes, it seemed he understood the danger. By the determination carved on his face, he was not leaving without her.
A thrill ran through her knowing that this man would risk his life to save her. As quickly, her spirits sank. The Scot wanted her not because he cared for her welfare, but because she was a means to gain coin for the rebels.
The man holding Nichola swayed, his grip tightening on her arm as he righted himself. “I caught her right and square. She is mine.”
Alexander bared his teeth like a wolf defending its territory. “Release her.”
Without ceremony, her burly captor shoved her into the arms of another leather-clad man at his side. “Hold her while I finish with the fool.” He sneered at Alexander. “Then I will have a taste of his whore. If he does not know how to keep his woman abed, I do.”
“Alexander!” Nichola screamed as the grimy man hauled her farther back into the drunken crowd, his foul stench almost making her wretch.
His hand wrapped around her throat and tightened.
She struggled for air. The crowd of men around her blurred. Their shouts muted. The stench of bodies and sweat faded. In a haze of pain and fear, her mind plunged into darkness.
Alexander watched Nichola go limp in her captor’s arms, and he cursed. One wrong move and they both could die. He shot her captor a savage glare as he withdrew his dagger.
“Release her or die,” Alexander ordered.
His Captive Page 3
