His Captive

by Diana J. Cosby

  An expectant hush fell over the crowd. Like vultures, the men watched, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

  Alexander understood the unspoken rule among thieves. They wouldn’t interfere, but would watch for a chance during the fray to claim the woman for their own.

  His opponent removed his own dagger, and the surrounding men backed up to give them wide berth. “A fight is it?” He answered his own question by lunging.

  Alexander sidestepped to the left, and the man’s blade met air as it whistled past.

  The man angled his dagger and again lashed out.

  Alexander dodged his attack.

  Laughter chortled around them.

  Red mottled his aggressor’s face as he whirled. Snarling, the man thrust his weapon at Alexander.

  Alexander easily evaded. Sauced to the gills, the man was a poor opponent. But at his next step back, Alexander hit a wall of men. One of the men behind Alexander shoved him forward into his attacker’s blade. The tip drove into his left side. Pain tore through him, a potent reminder he needed to rescue Nichola, not waste time eluding a drunk.

  “Alexander!”

  He heard Nichola’s frightened cry. She’d come to. He had to take her out of here now.

  Whirling, Alexander caught his burley opponent’s wrist and jerked it behind the man’s back. The snap of bone sounded.

  The drunkard’s weapon clattered to the floor as he howled in pain. “You broke me arm.”

  Alexander slammed him to the floor, pinning his boot against his wounded arm. The man howled in pain. “It is fortunate I do not end your worthless life.” With his dagger raised, he turned toward the wall of men surrounding them. He glared around the room. “Who else dares challenge my right to this woman?”

  One by one, the men met his gaze. Menace hummed in their eyes, a dark seething skewed by drink.

  Alexander stilled, his dagger readied. They’d reached the critical moment. The men would let them go or kill him and Nichola. He glared at the man holding Nichola.

  “Release her!” Alexander demanded.

  Tension permeated the silence.

  At last, the man shoved her away. “Too scrawny for me liking anyway.”

  On a cry, Nichola stumbled forward.

  Alexander caught her arms. At the terrified cry, the men began to chuckle. Before the mood turned more dangerous, he hauled her to within an inch from his face.

  “You have earned the punishment you will receive this night,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. Not waiting for the men to change their minds, Alexander tossed her over his shoulder, strode across the room and up the stairs; the cut in his side aching. Grumbles followed in their wake.

  Inside their chamber, he shoved the door shut and barred it. He set her down, the anger he’d banked below pouring through him. Gray eyes filled with fear stared back at him; a fragile, haunted look that dredged deep to his soul.

  One wrong move and she would have been brutally raped. And once the men were through with her, they would have discarded her.

  Uncaring.

  Ignoring her pleas for help.

  Until she died.

  He swallowed hard, tempted to draw her into his arms and ease her fears. To swear he would protect her always. Shaken by his possessive thoughts, he dropped his hand to his side.

  By the saints, he’d not be swayed by a comely face, especially that of an English lass. His concern for her arose from duty. Until her ransom arrived, ’twas his responsibility to ensure she remained safe.

  “I told you not to run.” He kept his voice hard to discourage further defiance.

  Her lower lip trembled. “And let you rape me?”

  Alexander caught her chin. “Lass, had I meant to take you, we would still be in bed. But,” he said, anger cutting through his every word, “after the way you pressed your body against mine, moaned with pleasure as my lips took yours, little doubt exists that any pleasure you derived from me was not forced. Or would be.”

  A blush stained her cheeks.

  “It was your attempt to escape that nearly cost us both our lives,” he continued, damning her defiance. “Had you heeded my earlier warning, we both would have been sound asleep by now.”

  With her hand clenching the torn fabric of her gown, she looked away, a silent acknowledgment.

  Alexander went to his saddle pack and retrieved an undershirt. “Here, wear this until I can steal you a new gown.”

  She took it and backed away.

  By God’s eyes, he was tired. At this moment, he could sleep upon a flattened boulder. Before he could lay down and rest, he needed to cleanse the injury. If the cut became infected, he might become gravely ill, or die.

  He pointed toward the bed.

  Fear swept through Nichola’s eyes.

  Alexander grimaced. “The bed is yours. I will sleep elsewhere.”

  At his quiet offer, tears flooded the eyes that had stared at him so balefully moments ago. She hugged his tunic to her chest as if a shield, and her slender body began to shake as if never to stop. Understanding dawned in him. Warriors often shook from their confrontations on the battlefield. This day she’d braved more than any woman he’d ever known.

  “Th—The men below—”

  Instinct had him stepping forward to draw her slender body against his own massive frame. He stroked his fingers through her hair as soft as silk. “S e sàbhailte a th’ agad fhèin a-nis,” he whispered in Gaelic. “You are safe,” he again whispered, in English this time against her brow. The warmth of her skin pulsed against his lips.

  Gray eyes clouded with doubt lifted to his. “Am I?”

  As she looked up at him with fragile hope, a possessiveness toward her overcame him. “No one will harm you while you are under my protection. That I swear with my life.”

  Belief flickered in her eyes. Drawn by her budding trust, finding he wanted so much more, Alexander lowered his gaze to her tempting mouth. At the first gentle brush of his lips against hers, sultry heat plunged through him, her taste filling his every thought. At her quiet acceptance, he covered her mouth, sinking into the soft sweetness.

  He pulled away, his body hard with unspent desire, his breathing coming in sharp rasps. ’Twould be far too easy to give into his mind’s tiredness, his body’s raging need, and do something foolish. Like continue to kiss her.

  Or seduce her upon the bed.

  Nichola may have delusions of resisting him, but he had none about her acceptance of his touch. Though wariness filled her gaze, desire lingered there as well. If he caressed her in places proven to soften a woman, she wouldn’t fight him. Her passionate nature would allow him whatever he desired.

  Frustrated beyond belief, he pushed the images of her body arching against his as he made love to her away, thoughts he had no right thinking. Ever.

  Alexander released her and gestured toward the straw-filled mattress. “Go to sleep. I will rest on a pallet near the door.”

  Silence filled the room between them. Nichola slid a hesitant look at the worn-wood floor, scuffed and dented through years of neglect, then back to him, his tender kiss still warm upon her lips.

  A kiss she hadn’t denied.

  Guilt pricked her. Tired lines sagged the Scot’s face, his muscled frame drooped with exhaustion, and though his words were firm, concern filled them as well. And he’d given her an undershirt to wear to spare her further embarrassment.

  What reason prompted his concern toward her? She couldn’t matter to him beyond the ransom she would bring. She had enough experience with men to know they thought little of her beyond her wealth.

  Or was he indeed honorable?

  In fairness, Alexander had risked his life below to save her. But had his actions to save her life arisen from chivalry? Or greed?

  Nichola’s body trembled as she reached the bed. She desperately wanted to sleep, to find sanctuary from this horrific night. Two nights ago she’d slept within her own bed, her biggest worry being what heirloom to sell to pay ano
ther debt. Now, she was being held hostage by a Scottish rebel, who inspired awareness for him as no other man.

  She willed Alexander from her mind, but memories of his kiss, his taste, and the thorough mastery of his mouth lingered. Nichola wanted to owe her ready response to her exhaustion. That tiredness weakened her defenses.

  However much she wanted to cling to that excuse, she refused to hide behind a lie. When his lips had covered hers, sensations she’d never experienced before had swamped her. Overwhelmed with emotion, she’d forgotten time, place, and the danger surrounding them.

  And that the man embracing her was her enemy.

  The soft pad of steps echoed behind her.

  She tensed. Had Alexander changed his mind and was coming to share her bed? Praying she was wrong, she turned.

  In the dim setting she saw Alexander walking toward the bowl set on a sturdy corner table.

  She sighed with relief.

  When he reached down to pick it up, she noticed the dark red stain on his tunic beneath his left arm.

  “You are wounded,” she gasped.

  “It is nothing.”

  Her guilt mounted. “An injury gained in my defense.”

  A swath of black hair slid forward, casting the hard planes of his face in dangerous shadows. “You are under my protection.”

  “Is that what you term abduction?” she asked, unable to stop the question.

  Cobalt eyes locked with hers. “The reason matters not.”

  It shouldn’t. But against all logic it did. She should find her bed and ignore his suffering. “As I caused your wound, I will be tending to it,” she said, matter-of-fact.

  He straightened to his full height, his look as unwelcoming as dangerous, as though he too recognized they were playing with fire.

  Nichola wondered at her sanity in offering assistance to a man who’d proven he could break through her emotional defenses with a single kiss.

  “You will need to remove your tunic.” Her quiet words echoed between them.

  The muted shouts and laughter from below broke the silence as he stared at her. Cool. Decisive.

  Her throat grew dry beneath his hard stare, that of a man who didn’t ask, but took.

  As if in response to a silent dare, Alexander slowly removed his tunic. His arms and chest rippled in an amazing display of sleek control. His gaze leveled on hers in an unspoken challenge as he dropped the garb to the floor with an unceremonious thump.

  Beneath his blatant stare, she shuddered, but fear had nothing to do with the warmth that pulsed through her. Drawn to the sinewy muscles carving through his magnificent body, she studied him with appreciation. Scars crisscrossed a massive chest that tapered down to a rippled abdomen. Numerous cuts, healed over time, topped by a ferocious scar extending from the top of his left chest down to his hip.

  A line of red along his side caught her attention. Blood seeped from an angry gash.

  “If you are to tend me,” he drawled, his burr thick, “be on with it.”

  On an unsteady breath, Nichola stepped closer to examine his wound. Within a pace, she made the mistake of looking up.

  His mouth was but a hand away. The softness of his breath feathered against her cheek. The air grew thick, potent with awareness. She longed to reach up and touch the hard curve of his jaw, to run her fingers down the corded muscles of his neck, then lay her palm flat upon his chest. To feel the steady pulse of his heart within.

  Her breathing grew ragged as her mind conjured forbidden images. If he lowered his mouth but a whisper, he could cover hers with his own.

  Dragging her gaze downward, she took in the injury. “The wound is not deep.” Her words spilled out in a raspy whisper, betraying desires best left hidden. Unnerved by her reaction to a man she would be a fool to trust, Nichola retrieved a cloth that had been provided with the room and dipped it into the basin of water.

  “This will hurt.”

  He gave a curt nod. “So be it.”

  She remained silent as she worked.

  “You have a gentle hand.”

  Ignoring the heat that swept through her at his unexpected praise, she wiped away the last of the blood from the wound. “The cut should heal quickly.” She folded the cloth, intending to step away.

  He caught her hand.

  “My thanks.” For a long moment he studied her, not with the fury of a warrior, but with the needs of a man. Everywhere his gaze touched, her body responded as if his fingers lingered against her skin. As if he’d won an inner battle, he released her. “Go to sleep.”

  At his curt order, she set the cloth on the table and hurried to the bed, never having felt so at odds in her life. Worse, for the next few hours she would be locked within the same room with a man who made her body feel anything but imprisoned.

  All too aware of his presence, she lay down and faced the wall. She dragged the blanket over her as if a shield, but it couldn’t protect her from the truth.

  She didn’t despise him. She wanted to, but his valiant rescue showed her that he had honor and courage. And although he’d abducted her, he’d given his word to keep her safe as well. A promise he’d risked his life to keep.

  Not that safety lay within his hands. Once he learned no ransom would be forthcoming, only God could help her then.

  Nichola wished this was but a horrid dream. But with the straw poking into her back and the woolen blanket scratching against her flesh, her situation was anything but an illusion.

  Chapter Four

  At Nichola’s cry, Alexander sat up from his pallet on the floor. Flickering candlelight caught her agitated movements in sleep. He frowned. She was having a nightmare.

  Aye, her near-rape by the men below would invite terrors in her mind and account for her unrest.

  On a whimper, she shifted onto her back, driving his guilt deeper. He rose to his feet, then stopped. What would his comforting her do but heighten her awareness of how alone they were and cause her further distress?

  ’Twas best if he left her alone.

  This night, the feelings she’d aroused when he’d held her had proved to be a personal mistake. Kissing her more so. Intimacy between them had no place in this abduction.

  After they’d returned to the chamber, the fact that she’d noticed his wound didn’t surprise him.

  Her insistence to tend it had.

  Alexander’s body tightened as he remembered her tender touch. Her genuine concern. And how after, she’d looked up at him with such innocence.

  He’d wanted her.

  The awareness smoldering in her gaze had assured him that she’d wanted him as well. But he’d not touched her. Not seduced her to release the craving for her that stormed him like a well-organized charge.

  Straw crunched as Nichola rolled onto her side to face the wall. The blanket puddled on the floor with a quiet plop.

  So he’d stay away from her to prove that he could? And allow her to suffer her nightmares alone? A sad knight he’d be the day he lost his compassion for the innocent.

  Disgusted with himself, Alexander walked over and knelt beside the bed.

  With her eyes closed in sleep, she began to shake her head. “No!”

  He gently stroked her hair. His fingers glided greedily through the smooth, silken strands. “There now. It is but a dream.”

  Soft gold flickers of candlelight illuminated her face as she winced, then, slowly, the troubled lines on her face smoothed.

  “Go to sleep. Let naught but dreams of fairies frolicking fill your thoughts,” he whispered, remembering his mother’s words, given to ease his night terrors.

  Her eyes blinked open. With a gasp, she clutched the tunic he’d given her against herself and scooted back against the wall.

  “Steady now.”

  “Yo—You said you were sleeping by the door,” she accused.

  “Aye, and that I am.”

  She hesitated. “I thought . . .”

  He clenched his jaw, understanding all too well her misinterpr
etation to his nearness. “You thought I would break my word and take you.” He stood and glared down at her. “Do not worry, you will be sleeping alone. Unlike the men you have known, I keep my word.” Alexander strode across the worn planks to his pallet. He lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Why—”

  “Go to sleep,” he ordered.

  “Why were you at my side?”

  He remained silent. He refused to entertain questions of his honor.

  “Will you not answer me?”

  “So you can again doubt my reply?”

  Her soft exhale whispered through the room. “I am sorry.”

  Appeased, he nodded. “You were having a night terror.” Straw rustled. He awaited her next comment, she’d have one no doubt, that he’d learned from their brief association. Unless he gagged her. An appealing thought.

  A corner of his mouth lifted in a grim smile.

  “I want to apologize.”

  The regret in her voice tugged at his conscience. “It is done.”

  The cold plank pressed against his back as he laid there and listened as she settled into the bed. The chirp of crickets from outside rode in with the cool, nocturnal breeze. A boisterous laugh echoed from the rowdy men below.

  Nichola’s suspicion of a man’s word weighed heavily on Alexander’s mind. What had instilled her belief that a man’s word meant naught? Who had lied to her? Hurt her enough to cause such distrust? Whoever the man was, he was a fool.

  With a covert glance, Alexander studied the lass who seemed a contradiction at every turn.

  Candlelight caught the sadness lingering in her eyes as she watched him, a quiet desperation within her that beckoned to him to offer her comfort.

  As if she’d offer him such a token of her trust?

  Against logic, he found himself wishing she would believe in him enough to share her heartache. He had experienced first hand the tragedies of life. Of hurt.

  And the loss.

  Familiar grief washed over him. He’d stood with his brothers as they’d buried their father—a father who’d sacrificed his life for Alexander’s. And as the last stone was placed on his grave, Alexander had sunk to his knees and sworn to avenge his father’s death.