Surrender to Me

by Sophie Jordan

  Unbidden, the image of Astrid wild and frenzied beneath him flashed through his mind.

  “Yes, I understand your meaning,” he returned, thinking that was the first thing he had noticed about her. That damnable aloofness, those obsidian eyes that the light never quite reached. Damn fool that he was, he had wanted to see the light flare in those eyes—had wanted to put it there.

  “I’d keep her close.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He waved a broad hand in the air. “You have only my hospitality during your stay here.”

  “Thank you.” Griffin turned and strode from the great hall. Marching up the stone steps, he hoped to find Astrid asleep when he entered the chamber. Cowardly, he supposed, but he had no wish to see her now with the light banked in her gaze.

  The heavy wood door didn’t make a sound as he eased it open. He paused in the threshold, assessing the still form lying on the huge four-post bed.

  He approached slowly, circling the bed, dipping his head to get a better look at her. Asleep, she looked every bit an angel, countenance relaxed, her lashes smudges of coal on her milky cheeks. The firelight cast entrancing shadows over her creamy shoulders, smooth and elegant as polished marble above the fur counterpane.

  His gut tightened and he knew he had never beheld a woman like her. Fire and ice. Elegance and dignity. Even bedraggled and travel weary, she pulled at something deep inside him. He could not imagine her in his world. Life on the frontier would change her. Break her. Like it did so many women. Robbing them of their youth and putting them in the ground too soon. With a curse, he shook his head. Why was he even thinking such thoughts? It wasn’t as if he would be taking her home with him. Nor would she consider going with him. Even if he asked. And he would not.

  He reached out to touch her face, then stopped. Dropping his hand, he removed his clothes, pausing when he noticed the tray on the table, the dishes shattered, the food, still mostly uneaten, in chaos amid the shards.

  He glanced back at her, wondering if she had dropped the tray or thrown it. Dropped, he decided. The frigid duchess would not have succumbed to temper and shattered the dishes. And why should she have lost her temper anyway? She had announced that they would never make love again—had called what happened between them wrong. A mistake.

  He slid in bed beside her, careful not to make a sound, heedful that he should not come in contact with one luscious inch of her.

  A quick glance beneath the fur revealed she had donned her nightgown. He quickly lowered the fur, staring instead at the flowing mass of hair fanned out over the pillow, golden silk, a huge improvement from the tightly drawn bun that made her features look pinched.

  He let his fingers stroke the loose strands against the pillow, confident that such a light touch would not wake her. He smiled ruefully. What happened to his penchant for dark-haired beauties?

  His mind drifted to Adelaide, the girl he had always counted on marrying. At least one day. His own parents had expected as much. And he had never discouraged them from the notion. Nor had he encouraged it. Adelaide’s father, a neighbor, held the same expectations. A union between them would benefit both families, eventually merging their properties. And Adelaide was a nice girl. If uninspiring.

  But now, lying in the dark, he could only dimly recall her face as he stared at the woman asleep next to him.

  In truth, it all seemed so faint in his mind. Hazy. Adelaide. Texas. The life he left behind. The longer away, the less certain he was of where he belonged.

  This journey was intended to give him answers, to fill the void his mother’s deathbed confession had left in him. To forget the way his father had looked at him, so full of disappointment and shame in his only son.

  Only the closer he came to discovering those answers, to finding the truth eluding him…the more adrift he felt.

  Sighing, he closed his eyes against the sight of Astrid, flinging his arm above his head, hand tugging idly on his hair.

  Still, he could only see one face in his mind—the face of the woman next to him. The pinpoints of light glinting brightly in the dark of her eyes when she surrendered and let the fire take her.

  Chapter 15

  Astrid stretched upon waking, her muscles pliant and relaxed as warmed milk. Smiling softly, she drew her arms high above her head and released a tiny mewl-like moan.

  “Sleep well?”

  Eyes flying open, she pulled her arms down, memories of the night before—and who she had spent it with—flooding over her. The warmth evaporated from her body as she recalled how the night had ended. The harsh words. The venom of his gaze.

  Her eyes sought Griffin, finding him sitting beside her, thankfully dressed.

  He fixed his eyes coldly on her, the passionate lover gone, his eyes chips of blue frost, looking at her as if they had shared nothing. Nothing special. Nothing intimate. As if their bodies had not so thoroughly loved each other only hours before.

  At your own request, a small voice in the back of her head reminded. I did this.

  She tore her gaze away from him. Morning light washed the room, altering it, giving it little resemblance to the shadowed, dreamlike chamber of the night before. Appropriate, she supposed. That night was over. A thing of the past. Already more dream than reality. It could never happen again.

  “Yes,” she answered, tucking her hair behind her ears. “And you?”

  She readjusted the counterpane around her and darted a glance to her valise across the room, longing to dress herself and repair her hair—to reclaim some normalcy, to reclaim herself.

  He stared at her, a strange little smile curving his lips. “Like a log.”

  “Lovely,” she murmured.

  His smile deepened, turned mocking. “So we’re to this now? Social niceties? How civilized.”

  Flushing, she ignored the comment and asked, “Could you give me a moment please? So that I might dress?”

  His mocking gaze made her feel the fool for even asking. “A little late for modesty now, don’t you think?” he asked in the same hard voice he had used before he stormed out of the room last night. A voice she loathed now as much as then. She missed the way he had spoken to her before—all heat and velvet…melting her insides.

  Foolish, she knew. She had asked for this. Foolish, she supposed, to now want to shield her body from his eyes. But how was she to put what happened behind them if she did not at least try to reclaim some distance?

  He cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his broad chest, not moving toward the door to grant her the privacy she requested.

  Annoyed, she flung back the counterpane and stood. Chin high, she moved to her valise, walking proudly, boldly.

  Holding his gaze, she worked the ties free at the front of her nightgown and shrugged the prim cotton off her shoulders and down her arms, letting it drop to her feet in a whisper…letting him look his fill.

  Naked before him, she resisted the urge to cover herself with both hands.

  His eyes gleamed, the dark centers seeming to grow, darken, bleeding out the light in his blue gaze as he surveyed her, eyes moving up and down her body slowly.

  Dark satisfaction spiraled inside her. She was glad to see that his plan to humiliate her had ended in his own punishment.

  Intent on torture, she dressed herself slowly, enticing him, letting him watch as she proceeded to cover herself bit by slow bit, taking her time sliding her stockings up her legs and tying the garters at her thighs.

  Her satisfaction grew, burning through her at the sight of the ruddy color staining his cheeks.

  Only by the time she finished buttoning her last button, her perverse pleasure backfired and she felt as hot and flustered as he appeared.

  Rounding the bed, she smoothed her hands down her green and blue striped skirts, averting her eyes and striving to regain her composure. The gown had once been the height of fashion. Now the green and blue were so faded one could scarcely tell where the stripes began and ended. Pride had prompted he
r to add white lace to the cuffs at her elbows in an attempt to keep up with fashion.

  She faced him, proud and erect, dressed but still burning with the knowledge that he had stared at her as she attired herself, his angry, hungry eyes following her every movement.

  “Will we breakfast before departing?” she asked, moving to her valise, presenting him with her back. “Or are you eager for us to be on our way?

  “We’re not leaving,” he announced. “At least not today.”

  She straightened and swung back to face him. “Pardon me?”

  “They’re not letting us go. A circumstance owed much to you.”

  “Me?”

  His eyes still roamed over her as if she stood nude before him. “Yes. You.”

  “Why won’t they let us go?”

  “Apparently,” he bit out as he lowered to the bed and tugged on his boots, “you mentioned some wealthy friends to the laird.”

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “What does that matter now? I was desperate. I would have said anything for him to let me go.”

  “Well, it seems the ol’ laird is highly interested in these friends of yours…and their willingness to fill his coffers for your safe return.”

  “No,” she gasped, realization sinking in.

  “Yes. Being an enterprising sort, Gallagher intends to ransom us. Or rather you. I suppose I could take my leave if I so wish.”

  If I so wish.

  “And will you?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice level, to sound unaffected at the prospect. She could not blame him if he left her. She had insisted they were nothing to each other. He owed her nothing.

  He stared at her a long moment before saying, “No. I won’t leave you here. I’ll see you safely to Edinburgh. As I promised.”

  Unable to hide her relief, a shuddery breath rippled through her. Sinking onto the bed beside him, she propped her chin into her hands. “What are we going to do?”

  “Never fear,” he assured her in derisive tones. “They’ll treat us as honored guests.” Rising from the bed, he extended his arm. “Come. Let’s eat. I’m famished.”

  “Are we not going to discuss this more? You don’t plan on accepting this situation. I can’t stay here.”

  He lifted one broad shoulder. “I’ll take care of the matter.”

  She gnashed her teeth. Didn’t he know her well enough yet to know she would not sit on her laurels and leave it to the strong man to handle everything? With reason. She learned long ago to rely on herself. And old habits died hard.

  With all the cold hauteur she could summon, she rose to her feet and accepted his arm. “Unnecessary. I shall simply explain that I was bluffing…afraid for my safety and merely attempting to procure my release.”

  “Yes, you do that,” he suggested, his voice mocking as ever as he led her from the chamber. “So far, you’ve been very successful at managing things on your own.”

  “If you have a better strategy, by all means share,” she snapped. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “We? Nothing. Me? I plan to scout the castle today and plot the best escape route.”

  “Escape?” she echoed as they moved down the corridor. “What are you planning to do? Climb down the castle walls with your bare hands?”

  “If need be.” He cut her a glance, the hard set to his jaw telling her that he could…and would.

  She assessed the unforgiving lines of his profile, the bruises still visible, and reminded herself not to underestimate him. He’d already proven that nothing could best him. Likely he had never failed anything in his entire life. Or anyone.

  “And what of me? Do you expect me to scale walls, too? Or will you leave me here?” she asked, regretting the question the moment she posed it. He’d already said he would take her to Edinburgh. Must she provoke him into retracting his promise?

  He stopped on the stairs and turned, backing her against the cold stone wall. Her pulse thumping madly at her throat, she held her breath as he caged her in, his arms coming up on either side of her head.

  In the dimness of the stairwell, his eyes glowed with a predatory light. “You think I would abandon you here?”

  Astrid swallowed down the thickness in her throat. “I’m quite aware that you’re vexed with me—”

  “Vexed?” he repeated. “Oh, no, Duchess. I’m not vexed. You gave me the ride of my life. Why would I be vexed with you?”

  She flinched, stung.

  Feeling little more than a tart—no doubt his intention—her hand rose to strike him.

  He caught her hand in his. “Careful,” he warned, fingers squeezing her fist.

  “Or what? You’ll leave me here? Perhaps you should.” The words dropped from her lips recklessly, hot and furious. “I’m beginning to wonder if I might not fare better with some Highland brute.”

  “Shall we find out?” he drawled.

  His gaze dropped, eyeing the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against her bodice. His voice lowered, as did his head, his lips brushing the side of her neck. “Would you prefer that, Astrid? Would that help you forget me?”

  Unable to stop herself, she angled her head, giving him better access to her throat, her breath escaping in a fast tremble of air. His tongue laved her quickening pulse.

  Forget him? Impossible. She brought her hand up, threading her fingers through his hair.

  “You think another man can do the things to you I do? Make you feel the way I can?”

  Her mouth moved silently. No.

  Dropping his arms, he stepped away, simply left her leaning forward like a plant seeking light, her treacherous body aching, her neck tingling from the feel of his mouth, the rasp of his tongue.

  Turning, he strode down the stairs, leaving her to follow. Fisting her hands at her sides, she drew a steadying breath and trailed after him.

  To her surprise, she found him waiting at the base of the stairs, expression cool, remote. The hard-faced stranger again. She took his arm and accompanied him into the hall. All eyes turned on them.

  Gallagher motioned for them to occupy the two seats beside him at the table. As if they were indeed guests of honor. Lachlan sat a few chairs down, his face as battered as Griffin’s—perhaps more. His already mangled nose looked as if it had been broken yet again.

  A serving girl set steaming bowls of porridge laced with honey before them. Astrid tucked into her bowl, consuming the tasty fare. Her mouth watered at the platter of buttered bread dropped on the table. She started to reach for one, then stopped, feeling Griffin’s stare. Self-conscious, she dropped her hand back in her lap.

  “Regular little martyr, aren’t you?” he leaned close to whisper in her ear.

  Fighting down the swarm of heat that licked her cheeks, she set her chin at a firm angle and took a small bite of her porridge.

  Swallowing, she turned her attention to the laird sitting on the other side of Griffin.

  “My lord,” she began, leaning forward, not certain the appropriate form of address for the laird of a clan, but thinking it wouldn’t hurt to address him with the utmost respect.

  He turned light blue eyes on her. “I fear my words yesterday evening have been misconstrued.”

  “Misconstrued, eh?” he mumbled, lifting a spoonful of porridge to his mouth and leaving much of it on the beard surrounding his lips.

  “Yes.” She nodded, pressing on determinedly. “I had only hoped to convince you to release me. You see, I have no wealthy friends willing to pay for my release.”

  He stared at her with narrowed eyes. “You freely admit you lied then?”

  “Yes,” she declared, then frowned at the look Griffin shot her—one of pity and mild disgust. As if she were the village idiot. He shook his head.

  The laird wrinkled his nose. “You’re not to be trusted, then. That much is clear to me.”

  “No,” she quickly denied.

  “Aye,” he nodded, leaning forward and plucking a slice of bread off the platter before them. Wadding the thick slice into a ball, h
e took a considerable bite. Giving her a conspiratorial wink, he asked around a mouthful, “Come now. A starchy Sassenach like you doesn’t have a few friends with blunt to spare?”

  Her spine stiffened at his description of her, however true…however much she had cultivated that very image of herself. “No. None that can be relied upon for assistance.”

  “No relations?”

  For a moment she thought of her in-laws. Thinking of them, she replied honestly, “I don’t inspire that sort of devotion, I’m afraid.”

  Chewing, he measured her with keen blue eyes before answering, “Nay. I don’t believe it.” With a firm nod, he added, “You will supply me with the names of these friends. And you will remain here until they pay the price of your freedom.”

  She drew her shoulders back. “I cannot supply you with names I do not have.”

  “Very well.” He shrugged and took another bite of bread. Flakes and crumbs flew into his beard as he spoke, “Then you’ll be with us a long time.”

  Frustration burned a bilious trail up her chest. She swung her furious gaze to Griffin.

  He gave her a smug, knowing look before turning his attention to Gallagher. In all mildness, he asked, “Since we’ll be here awhile, how might we occupy ourselves? Is there a library perhaps?”

  “Of course. We’re not unlettered barbarians here,” the old man replied, wiping a rough wool sleeve against his mouth. “Just know the guards have orders to stop you or your woman from passing the outer gates. Otherwise, make yourselves at home.”

  Griffin nodded his assent, his look all innocence.

  Until he glanced back at Astrid. And she knew there was nothing innocent in his request, saw it in the glint of his pale blue eyes. He meant to investigate the castle and plan a method of escape. Suddenly such a measure did not seem extreme in the least. It seemed utterly sensible. Their only choice.

  Chapter 16

  A hard hand on her shoulder shook Astrid awake.

  “Make haste. Dress yourself and gather your things.”

  Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, her eyes adjusting to the dim chamber. Embers from the fireplace provided minimal light. Griffin moved about the room quickly, a dark shadow collecting his saddlebag and swinging it over his shoulder.