“Nichola?”
Alexander tensed. Had someone attacked him and stolen her? Maybe one of the men from the tavern had followed them and while he was busy fetching water, they’d clouted him. His pulse raced as he searched for any sign of a struggle.
Nothing.
Why did his head ache? Tenderly, he probed the back of his head where the throbbing was most intense. His fingers skimmed over a large bump covered with a sticky ooze. No, not ooze. He drew his hand away and stared down at his fingers.
Blood coated his fingers.
He noticed a curved limb lying inches away.
Had Nichola . . . no. She wouldn’t hit him. Aye, he’d abducted her, but he’d reassured her many times over during this journey that she was safe. A fact proven yesterday at the church ruins when she’d turned to him for comfort. Until he’d mentioned her brother’s name. Then the warmth in her eyes had faded and she’d stared at him as if the enemy.
He wanted to believe she hadn’t ambushed him. Sadly, no other explanation fit. It accounted for why he’d not heard anyone’s approach. And why, he, a seasoned knight with many a battle behind him, had been caught off guard.
Anger churned inside him like bubbles inside a boiling cauldron. So this was her repayment of his trust? So be it. When he caught her—and he would—he’d not let down his guard toward her again.
Nichola shoved a low-hanging limb from her path, ducked beneath it. Leaves shook angrily as the branch whipped back into place. She trudged on. Every muscle in her body protested, but at least exhaustion was dimming the pain.
How long had it been since she’d left Alexander? From the sun sitting high in the sky, a handful of hours had passed, but it felt like days.
In more ways than one.
No, she wouldn’t think about his death. She was free and headed toward England. Toward home. That’s all that mattered. All that could matter.
The distant rush of water rumbled ahead.
Good. She’d refill her water pouch and rest awhile. Not too long. Just enough to catch her breath. But how she yearned to lie down by the bank and sleep.
The leaf-strewn ground ahead of her fell away to a steep hill. Tiredness blurred her vision as she started her descent. On her next step, her slipper caught on the root of an oak.
Nichola screamed and tumbled downward. Rocks bit into her legs. Thin branches whipped her face. Shrubs scraped her body. She clawed in vain at the mass of leaves and rich earth, anything to halt her rapid descent. She was moving too fast.
A large boulder loomed before her.
She was going to hit it! Nichola crossed her hands over her face. The breath was knocked out of her as she slammed to a halt.
Mary’s will. Everything hurt. But as long as she felt pain, she was alive. She tentatively moved her limbs. And by God’s hand, she didn’t believe anything was broken.
Slowly, her vision cleared. She stared up at the large bounder. Moss draped down the sides, which had saved her from a much worse fate and possibly death.
Another wave of dizziness swept over her. She closed her eyes. The cool, fresh scent of the forest filled her lungs with each breath she took. The churn of the river surged nearby.
She was so tired. What would it hurt if she took a short nap? Her eyes drifted shut. No. The price of her freedom was too dear. She had to keep moving.
Wiping the dirt from her eyes, she crawled to her knees. A twig slipped from her hair and landed on the ground. Exhausted, she rested against the padded stone.
How was she going to make it to England when she could barely move her legs? If only she’d been able to ride, this would have been so much easier.
Thoughts of the stubborn horse made her think of Alexander, in spite of her vow not to. Grief swelled in her chest. He had treated her with naught but respect. ’Twas her attempts to flee that had brought on her troubles.
A contrast from her original impression of him. When he’d stood in her solar, all she’d seen was a formidable man carved in ice. A man bred to kill. Now, she saw him as a steadfast man of compassion. Though he was her enemy, his intent for his cause was honorable.
And now he was dead.
Leaves clattered overhead drawing her attention. She glanced up at the slivers of sunlight. They slipped through the flutter of leaves, illuminating the forest with random sprinkles of light.
Entranced by the dance between sunlight and leaf, she basked in their almost magical interaction. The shimmers of light flitted like fairies upon the leaves.
Fairies?
She frowned at her fanciful notions and brought her gaze back to the sun-dappled ground. Such was Alexander’s belief. She touched the pendant at her neck. Before her parents’ death, life had held a magical appeal. In the innocence of her youth, she had believed in miracles and unexplainable wonderment.
An ache burrowed in her chest. No, magic and fairies couldn’t compete with harsh reality.
Nichola gathered her thoughts. She needed to focus on her present situation, not waste time on the past she couldn’t change. Or foolish notions of fairies.
After taking the last drink of water from the pouch, she secured it around her waist and stood. On trembling legs, she rounded the large rock and halted, stunned by the vivid landscape before her.
“It is beautiful,” she whispered, as if to speak out loud would taint the setting before her.
Water cascaded from a ledge of rock pouring into a churning pool, the water so deep near the center that it darkened to a black hue. Heather dusted the edge of the basin, entwined with bog myrtle, buttercup, and sprinkled with an occasional meadowsweet.
Her minimal knowledge of flowers and plants made her incapable of naming the many varieties that framed the water’s edge, but that fact didn’t dismiss their beauty or their amazing scent. She inhaled their bounty, appreciating the soft mix of fragrances.
Her own private pool. And she desperately needed to bathe. She imagined the cold, refreshing water embracing her; soothing the aches that tormented her every inch. Oh, to be clean again. To scrub every speck of dust and grime from her skin. Heaven on earth.
With a sigh, Nichola pushed the inviting thought aside. The sun was beginning to set. She needed to travel south as far as possible before dark. At the waters edge, she knelt to refill her water pouch.
The low, steady thrum of hoofbeats echoed behind her.
She stood and whirled. Nichola scanned the ridge. Griffin! She sobered. Was her brother even aware of her abduction? Even so, how would he know to search for her here?
Her pulse raced as she searched the trees for the rider. She glanced skyward to take a bearing. Whoever it was, they came from the north, from the direction she’d fled.
Someone had found Alexander’s body!
The image of a rabid, half-naked Scot in war paint, wielding his claymore as he rode hard to avenge his kinsman’s murder flashed in her mind.
A horse whinnied from beyond the ridge.
Nichola stumbled back. She couldn’t let anyone catch her! She backtracked to flat ground, then ran. Her breaths came fast, her legs screaming with every step.
The pounding of hooves increased.
Limbs scratched her face, arms, and legs. She didn’t stop running. Didn’t dare.
“Nichola!” Alexander’s outraged yell boomed through the forest.
She whirled. Alexander! Happiness burst through her as she started toward him. He was alive. She hadn’t killed him.
“Nichola!”
At the anger in his voice, her happiness faded. What was she doing going to him? After hitting him on the back of the head with a limb, he would far from welcome her.
She searched her surroundings for a place to hide. He was too close for her to try and cross the river, or climb up and hide behind the waterfall.
In the distance stood a thick hedge surrounding a large, ancient oak.
The steady thrum of hoofbeats closed.
Saint’s breath! Nichola sprinted toward the hedge. She shov
ed the dense shrub open and crawled inside. Limbs and briars tugged strands of hair loose, leaves slapped her face, but she inched deeper into the thicket.
Sticks snapped beneath his mount’s hooves as he approached.
Touching her pendant, she peered through the breaks in the leaves.
Alexander rode into view. He halted his mount atop the hill she’d tumbled down moments before. Like a vengeful god, he surveyed all within his domain; his intense gaze filling her with dread of retribution.
She shrank deeper into the thick growth. Through the dark, heart-shaped serrated leaves, abundant with clusters of green blooms, she watched Alexander guide his bay down the steep incline.
Tiny pinpricks of sensation shimmered up the back of her hands and arms. She shifted away from the dark, hair-covered stem of a tall weed.
At the base of the hill near the boulder she’d slammed into when she’d tumbled down moments ago, Alexander halted his horse. A frown carved his face as he scanned the torn up earth, then his gaze swept the area.
Nichola shivered. Please do not see me.
Tiny leaves fluttered beneath her nervous breath and scraped across her hands. Her skin tingled. She owed the irritation to her own nerves, to her fear of discovery.
The scar on his left cheek tightened. Again he scanned the surrounding forest.
Her heart pounded so loud she was afraid he would hear its frantic beat.
The tingling sensations intensified. They fanned over her skin spreading up her arms, then around her neck and up her face. Sweat moistened her brow. Her throat grew parched.
Nichola focused on the soothing flow of water; the rainbow of color surrounding the banks of the waterfall. Neither kept her mind away from the growing need to scratch her arms or quench her thirst. She must remain still. Her freedom depended on her silence.
Go, she silently willed him.
Alexander stood in his stirrups. His bay shifted beneath him. He absently stroked the horse’s neck as he scanned the surrounding woodland.
“Steady lad,” Alexander soothed. Nichola had passed through here. The freshly torn up earth and uneven heaps of leaves where she’d fallen offered proof.
With a grimace, he smoothed his fingers over the throbbing lump on the back of his head that still screamed like a raging woman. And had swollen to the size of a duck egg.
The slight rustle of leaves from a clump of thick shrubs at the base of a large oak caught his attention. He studied the intricate weave of branches and leaves. Within the mix, he saw naught but shadows.
A hare, badger, or another small animal might be hiding within, but his senses told him otherwise. The dense foliage provided excellent cover for a person to hide.
Leaves again shook within the dense tangle, confirming his suspicions of exactly who hid within.
He straightened in the saddle, a smug smile settling on his lips. Now lass, we will see who has outfoxed whom.
Alexander nudged his bay toward the thicket. Several feet away, he made out a tangle of nettles woven through the brambles; their jagged leaves heavy with clusters of greenish blossoms.
“By God’s eyes,” he muttered. “She has not been ignorant enough to hide in there?”
The branches shook again, this time more intensely.
He winced, all too aware of the misery she has unknowingly inflicted upon herself. Once during his youth, he’d slipped inside some brambles to hide from his brothers. The hours he’d suffered from his exposure to the seemingly innocent weed had taught him to take heed when seeking shelter in the woods. A fact she would learn this day.
“Lass.” His firm tone vibrated in the forest. “I know you are in there. Come out.”
Silence. The bushes moved with a vigorous shake.
He shook his head, frustrated at her stubbornness. “Nichola.”
“Go away.”
At her irritated voice, another smile curved at his mouth. “You have stinging nettles all about you, lass,” he explained. “If you remain there, you are doing naught but punishing yourself further.”
“As if you are not going to.”
“No,” he said with a solemn tone. However upset he might be, never had he touched a woman in violence. Even after her brazen act, the thought of striking her repulsed him. “I will not be touching you. Your bout with the nettles will serve enough of a punishment.”
The bushes shifted. “Do you swear it?” she asked, her voice a mix of nerves and desperation.
“Aye.”
The outline of her face came into view, her gray eyes ridden with doubt.
“The longer you remain in the bushes, the more you will suffer.”
With a vicious rustle, Nichola shoved her way from the thicket; her newly stolen dress torn, scrapes running up her arms, and a rash darkening her exposed skin.
God’s teeth! In one quick move, Alexander dismounted and rushed to her side.
At his approach, her eyes widened and she stumbled backed. “Do not beat me.”
Disgusted by her lack of trust, he gently caught her by the arm. He led her first to his horse. “Do not move.” Alexander retrieved a rounded cake of crafted soap, then guided her toward the pool below the waterfall.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
At the water’s edge, he released her and held out the cake of soap. “Clean off as much of the nettle’s venom as you can. Once you are through washing, I will apply a mix of herbs to help the pain.”
Nichola hesitated, her hand moving to scratch at the skin along her forearms.
“Take it,” he said, irritated she’d fight him on this. With the redness growing on her skin, she had to be in agony.
Doubt simmered in her eyes. “Why would you help me after what I have done to you?”
He ignored the tremor in her voice. “A question I have asked myself several times since I found you.”
Her fingers trembled as she accepted the soap. “My thanks.” She walked toward pool. At the water’s edge she removed her slippers, lifted the hem of her tattered dress and stepped gingerly into the water’s edge. A groan of pure relief fell from her lips.
“When you remove your clothes, toss them back to me.”
She spun to face him, her mouth open in disbelief. “It is indecent.”
As she stood there staring at him, the water her shimmering backdrop, it was all too easy to imagine her wet and naked. Alexander clenched his teeth. He didn’t need to be thinking of that.
“While you are bathing,” he said, “I will rinse any venom from the plant off your clothes then hang them to dry. With the nettles venom in you, you will soon be too weak and ill to complete the chore yourself. Go on now. The soap is made with sage and rosemary. It will help the itching.”
“I will not strip and—”
“Enough!” He took a menacing step toward her. “You will do what I tell you or I will wash you myself.” Nichola sputtered with outrage, and he cursed his body as it hardened at the image of her soapy and naked in his arms. Blast the lass for tempting him so. And himself for being so weak when it came to her.
After hitting him with the branch, she should instill naught within him but distrust. But as his body kindled with desire, ’twould seem it’d betray him as well.
She gave a slow, wary nod, her hands rubbing her arms. “Turn around.”
“And trust you not to clout me again?”
A blush swept up her face. “You have my word I will not hit you.”
He grunted. “If I hear a footstep coming near my direction, I will scrub you myself.” Alexander turned, ready to dismiss her from his thoughts. And his life.
The scrunch of wet fabric stoked the randy images swirling through his mind. The slide of fabric allowing him to easily envision her peeling her half-torn garment from her smooth, creamy flesh, and the bounty of curves spilling free.
“Blast it,” he muttered beneath his breath.
“Do not look!” she all but shrieked.
A vision of her arms trying to cover
her ample swells from his view had him growing harder. “Blast it. I will not. Now on with you.”
Without warning, the water-laden dress slapped on the ground inches away from him.
Nichola was naked. Except for her necklace, not a stitch covered her slender frame. If he turned now, he’d see every inch of her. From the tumble of her auburn curls, to the slim column of her neck, to the curves of her tempting breasts. Down her narrowed waist to the apex of her womanhood.
His breathing became shallow. His body hardened to a painful state. The softness of her skin beneath his hands invaded his memories.
On an oath, he bent and lifted the garment. Her scent of woman and lavender rose from the dress. He fisted his hand on the low-cut gown. God in heaven, a man had only so much strength.
Water sloshed behind him.
He willed his mind to empty. Instead it painted a torturously clear picture of her slender legs slowly being engulfed in the chilled rush of water. How the shimmer of droplets would linger on her pale skin, and her nipples growing into hard, stiff peaks.
Sweat beaded on his brow as he willed himself not to turn and look his fill. He shifted, trying to ease the agonizing pressure of his manhood within his trews.
A quiet splash of water behind him signaled she’d begun to wash.
He groaned. Careful to not injure himself in his aroused state, he crouched at the water’s edge. He should have searched around and stolen another, more modest, change of clothes for her as well. Until he acquired a replacement, this garment would have to do.
Alexander focused on rinsing out her gown. Unbidden, images of her skin lathered with a slick layer of soap formed in his mind. Of the warm scent of her skin. Of how his fingers would skim across her slippery flesh, and her moan of pleasure as she begged him to make love to her.
He shook his head. Get a hold on yourself, lad. But with the randy thoughts pouring through his mind, he may as well have been wishing to find a fairy hill.
Disgusted at his lack of will when it came to her, he squeezed the water from her tattered gown. He rose to leave, but lost to temptation as he stole a quick peek at her through his lashes. What did she expect? He wasn’t a saint.
His Captive Page 7
