by Julia Latham
She nodded, afraid to say the words she didn’t mean. He took her waist in his big hands and set her on the ground, making her feel like the most fragile of women, though she’d never felt like that before. Her legs were too weak to support her after the hours of confinement, and she swayed against him, ashamed that he had to support her. Better that, than to fall on her face in front of him. He caught her bound arms, held her still, looking down on her from his great height.
“You did not speak the words, my lady.”
She sighed. “I promise.” But she was lying. Why should a man who’d kidnapped her expect her to tell the truth? She held out her hands to him, and when he only cocked his head, she said, “It might be easier for a man to…with hands bound, but I have a skirt to hold up.” Was he going to make her explain every detail?
Saying nothing, he freed her hands. Moving her wrists with a relieved sigh, she looked about the clearing and decided to head downhill, hoping that if she could escape, she could head for the valley.
She took several limping steps.
“Are you injured?” he suddenly demanded, coming up behind her.
It would serve him right if he’d wounded the daughter of a marquess. Without thinking, she said, “I guess I am.”
He caught her arm to stop her, turned her about to face him, then dropped to his knees. As she gave an incredulous stare, he reached for the hem of her skirt and lifted it, tossing it across his shoulder and reaching to touch her.
“Show me where,” he said gruffly. “You need healing.”
No man had ever presumed to touch her ankles—or anything else. She could feel the cool competence of his hands even through her stockings. She gaped at him, then at last slapped down her skirt and pushed at his immovable shoulders.
“I am not injured! Well…not recently. When I was a girl I broke my left leg and it never healed correctly. ’Tis shorter than the other.”
Very slowly he rose to his feet, towering high over her head. Her gaze followed his ascent helplessly.
“I did not mean to lie!” she insisted with breathless fear. “Tying me up made my legs lose all feeling.”
He took a deep breath but said nothing, only turned her about and gave her a push—a gentle push, to her surprise. She took several steps, realizing he still followed her. Though she wanted to cower, she sent him an arch look over her shoulder.
He halted. “Leave just a few trees between us, my lady.”
Her heart raced at the thought of eluding him. “Sir, do not come charging after me if I take what you think is too long. Women are not like men.”
For a moment, a puzzled look came over his face, as if he were trying to make sense of her words. She frowned at him, feeling confused, then turned away and stepped into the brush at the base of the trees. She deliberately made a lot of noise, cracking sticks, rustling bushes.
“Far enough, my lady,” he called.
She quickly did what she had to, then began to move more cautiously downhill, watching where she placed each foot.
She gasped and stumbled to a halt as she heard a man clear his throat. Sir Adam was in her path, leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his broad chest. He watched her coldly. How had he—she hadn’t even heard movement! He would have had to rush to get past her.
Regardless, he had found her out. She waited for his reprisal, chin lifted. How could he blame her? But would he punish her?
To her surprise, he grasped her arm above the elbow and pulled her with him as he slipped through the thinning line of trees, away from the encampment. She wanted to dig in her heels, panicked that he meant to punish her in private.
“I am not going to harm you,” he said stiffly. “I want to show you where you were headed. Go before me.”
He thrust her forward, keeping his grip on her arm. She had no choice but to stumble before him, her limp even more pronounced on the uneven hillside. She went through the last of the trees, then cried out as she suddenly leaned out over a cliff. Sir Adam caught her against him and held her there, her back to his front, while the entire valley spread out before her. They were on the edge of the mountain, sheep dotting the valley below in pastures separated by rough stone walls, and the narrow Hawes Water glimmering in the distance.
She shuddered, her every sense reeling at the thought that she would have rushed right over the edge in her flight from him. Now she couldn’t stop shaking, even as he held both of her arms and kept her tight against him. She could feel his thighs at her backside, as well as the hard muscles of his chest.
It was as if they were alone in the world.
Chapter 2
Adam Hilliard, earl of Keswick, stood on the edge of the mountain, Lady Florence’s slight body held firmly against him—and he felt as if the recent events of his life were like a plummet from this cliff. He had spent many years formulating his plans, examining every possible result and action, accounting for everything.
Except for Lady Florence herself, small and fragile, yet full of a trembling courage as she asked for answers that he couldn’t give. She’d even tried to escape him, the silly fool, and could have killed herself. He wanted to shudder with guilt at the thought, but he could not betray his emotions to her. And what emotions could they be? She was the daughter of his enemy. He’d expected her to be bold and arrogant, a product of everything he’d heard about the marquess of Martindale.
But she seemed nothing like he’d imagined, nothing like he was prepared for, and it unsettled him. Then again, he was unused to spending any time at all with women; he hadn’t even been raised near them.
How could he have anticipated…her?
He deliberately allowed her to stand too close to the cliff, holding her securely, yet wanting her to feel terrified by what her haste had almost cost her. And she must have been terrified, because she quivered wherever they touched.
He had promised himself he would be firm, even ruthless where she was concerned.
But her soft trembling did things to the inside of him that he’d never felt before. He wanted to press deeper into her, wrap his arms around her, lean down and smell her hair. She was so very…different from him.
His confusion finally made him step away from the edge, bringing her with him. As he let go of one of her arms, she reached for a tree and held herself against it, giving another shudder.
Though Adam wanted to ask if she was all right, to promise he wouldn’t let her be so near to danger again, he only said in a harsh voice, “Now you see why you need to remain with me at all times. Our journey will be perilous.”
She glanced up at him, her face pale, heart-shaped, with eyes a brilliant emerald green. They looked up at him now with accusation, which he understood. Her nose was pert, her mouth small like the rest of her, a pink bud of curves that could easily pout, but didn’t. She was very obviously afraid of him and trying not show it. He couldn’t help but admire her courage. Her brown hair was braided straight down her back, swinging almost to her waist. He had not realized that women wore their hair so long. It made him feel…strange, and he couldn’t stop the image that flashed in his mind, of that hair unbraided, sliding about her shoulders, covering the front of her.
What was wrong with him? He was five and twenty years old, no longer a boy.
Women had been made for men to take care of; surely it was only those instincts he was fighting. And fight them he would, for she had to be afraid of him, so that she would not attempt to escape.
He roughly pushed her ahead of him back up the slope, into the thickening stand of trees. When they came out into the clearing, Robert and Michael looked at them both, Michael with his ever-present concern—such adulation was hard to get used to—and Robert wearing only an amused smirk.
Michael had set out cheese and apples and twice-baked bread. They’d had no time to hunt for their supper. Lady Florence stood beside him, looking down at the meager fare. Adam couldn’t read her expression. He hoped he would not have to force her to eat. But she sank gracefu
lly to her knees, as if her damaged leg didn’t bother her, and hesitantly took a wedge of cheese. He frowned, wondering how such a permanent affliction had affected her life. From what he’d seen during the several days he’d spent spying within her castle, she’d been as any other maiden, as far as he could tell. She’d overseen the servants in the great hall, assisted her married sister, and dealt daily with the outside servants in the dairy and the laundry.
But always she’d taken several solitary walks in the little garden next to the castle. It was a useless garden—nothing planted that was edible, only flowers that were pretty to look at, but served no purpose.
He remembered thinking she limped a little, but he’d dismissed it. And then he’d had to handle her roughly. When he’d thought he’d injured her, the earlier memory of her limp fled his mind. He felt like an idiot. What good was all his vaunted intellectual and military training when one young woman could scramble his brain?
Michael looked up at him, his face colored by the setting sun. Adam tensed, hoping he would not say “my lord,” and reveal what Adam needed kept secret.
“Sir, will you eat with us?”
Adam tried to relax—until he leaned past Lady Florence for an apple and noticed her cringing away from him. He gritted his teeth. He was an honorable man, and to have done something to frighten a lady did not set well with him.
But it would be worth it in the end, he thought. The marquess of Martindale would suffer at Adam’s hands for his terrible deeds.
Robert stood up. “Sir Adam, may I speak with you in private?”
Adam glanced at Michael, who nodded to accept responsibility for Lady Florence. Then Adam went to the edge of the clearing with his brother.
“Robert, what is it?”
Robert took a sip from his wineskin. “’Tis all happening as you planned, big brother.”
“Of course, it is.”
“Thanks to Michael and me.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “I could have done it without you.”
“I see not how,” Robert answered, wearing a grin. “I still cannot believe you were just going to leave me behind. I’m three and twenty, and you cannot keep me sheltered forever.”
“’Tis a brother’s duty to protect his family.”
“This is my fight, too,” Robert said, his usual smile fading. “I did not appreciate having to follow you without permission to be a part of restoring our family honor.”
“You are right.”
“And another thing—” Robert stopped and gave him a surprised glance. “Did I just hear you admit that I was right?”
“You did. I can see that your services, and those of Michael, are of valuable assistance.”
“Very well, then.” Robert cleared his throat. “I know we go to London and the marquess, but what about the League of the Blade? Those noble knights”—he chuckled—“have known our every move our entire lives.”
Adam sighed. “They do not know our intentions, which means they would not be following us. They are more concerned with their good deeds. Our revenge is nothing they have considered.”
“They had nineteen years to help our family,” Robert said, shrugging, “but they never did.”
“The League helps the innocent and oppressed, Robert,” Adam said patiently. “We are neither of those. So we can help ourselves.”
“You always defend them. I think that is one of the reasons Paul left.”
Adam inhaled and then let it out with a sigh. Paul was his youngest brother by three years, who had left them before Adam had announced his plans for Martindale. Paul was angry about the way they’d grown up, and needed to escape, to make his own way in the world. Though Adam grieved, praying that Paul would be well, he had understood his brother.
But Paul hadn’t understood Adam, and it was one of Adam’s greatest regrets.
“Paul’s reasons for leaving are his own,” Adam said quietly. “But as for us, now we travel toward London, letting enough time pass so that Martindale will hear that his daughter is missing. Then we send him the challenge. He will be forced to face me in combat, before the London court.”
“And then you defeat the great warrior.”
Adam arched a brow. “As if there’s any doubt.”
Robert shook his head as he smiled. “Such confidence, big brother.”
“’Twas bred into me.”
Robert only nodded. Without discussing it, they both turned to look back at their little campfire, and the young woman who knelt beside it, a half-eaten apple in her hands.
“I can take a turn watching her tonight,” Robert said casually.
“We all need our sleep.”
“She won’t mind sleeping with me.”
Adam gave a small smile. “She is not the kind of woman you’ve been with before, little brother.”
“And that’s why she’ll help me learn about ladies at court.”
“I think not.”
Robert gave an exaggerated sigh. “So she is your prisoner, instead of ours?”
“She is my responsibility, just as you are. And I take such things very seriously.”
“When you finally need help, you can call on me.”
Adam put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “My thanks, but I will not need help with her. She is simply a sheltered young woman who I’ve succeeded in making afraid of me. She will be biddable.”
Robert smirked again. “And you think I haven’t had enough experience with women.”
Before Adam could reply, Robert sauntered back toward the fire, leaving Adam to trail him.
They passed the rest of the meal in strained silence as darkness descended and a wind rose up from the valley to rustle through the trees. Adam did not disguise his focus on Lady Florence. She met his gaze once or twice, always looking quickly away. She turned over and over the dried bread in her hands as if distracted, crumbling it without seeming to realize it.
At last Adam decided to get on with what she must already be fearing: the sleeping arrangements. “’Tis time to rest, for we’ll arise early in the morn.”
Lady Florence seemed frozen in place, her eyes darting nervously from Robert, who packed away their supper, to Michael, who began to remove blankets from the saddlebags.
“Lady Florence, do you need to relieve yourself once more?” Adam asked.
She blushed and didn’t meet his eyes as she quickly shook her head.
“I do,” he said. “I will return in a moment.”
When he came back, Lady Florence was as frozen as when he’d left her, as if her refusal to accept it would stop the coming night. The other two men took their turns for a moment in the trees, and Robert settled down on his blanket, his cloak closed about him. Though it was summer, this part of the lake country had chilly nights. Michael walked to the edge of the clearing, taking the first watch.
Adam spread his own blanket, then knelt on it. “Come here, Lady Florence.”
He saw the shiver that passed through her, and with regret, he knew it wasn’t from the cold. He hadn’t imagined how terrible it would feel to keep a young woman afraid of him. He kept reminding himself that the end result would be worth it, that even she might understand his motives once she knew everything.
He was lying to himself—she would understand nothing when her father lay dead on the ground.
She rose unsteadily to her feet at last. “I will sleep in the cart.”
“Since you’ll be sleeping tied to me, I think proximity to the fire will keep us warmer. We won’t be sleeping in the cart.” He deliberately deepened his voice. “Come here, Lady Florence.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Now.”
She took the two steps to his blanket and knelt down. Adam tied a rope to his wrist, then looped it tightly about hers, leaving enough loose rope for comfort.
He said, “This wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t lied to me.”
She didn’t answer, only narrowed her eyes. She obviously had much to say to him—if she weren’t afraid.
He couldn’t look at her anymore. Lying down on his side, he held open his cloak. “Join me, Lady Florence. I will keep you warm.”
Feeling shocked and disoriented, Florrie knelt on the wool blanket, her back to the fire, and gaped at Sir Adam. His long body took up most of the blanket; his boots rested in the sparse grass. He waited, his cloak held open, as if he fully expected her to lie against him! He was a kidnapper, a man out to kill her father. She didn’t even want to touch him.
“Is there another blanket?” she asked.
“No.”
Of course not. She didn’t believe him, but what could she do? He was punishing her for her disobedience, which she so little deserved. She was a prisoner—she was supposed to try to escape. He would do the same thing!
Feeling foolishly brave, she ignored his offer of warmth and lay down with her back to him, leaving a foot of space between them. She thought she heard an evil chuckle behind her, which only made her clench her jaw with determination. She was close to the fire; it would keep her warm. But soon enough the wind seemed to infiltrate that small space behind her. Her front was almost too hot, her back freezing cold. But every time she glanced at the rope binding her wrist, and thought of all it represented, she swore to herself that she would bear the cold. Soon she couldn’t control her shivers.
Suddenly he was right behind her, not quite touching, and she hadn’t even felt the blanket shift. She gave a little start, but he did nothing else. How did he move so silently?
“Ready to give up?” he asked in a soft voice from above and behind her.
His breath puffed gently against her ear, and she had the strangest urge to shudder. ’Twas the cold.
He didn’t wait for her response. She gasped as he tucked his body behind hers, knees in the bend of her knees, hips pressed to hers. After he pulled the cloak over and around them both, his arm came to rest over her waist, his big hand near her stomach. She forgot how to breathe, even as she heard his even breathing behind her.
Though warmth seeped into her bones, she couldn’t relax. What did he mean to do to her under cover of darkness? His companions would see nothing—would say nothing. She was only a pawn to them. Though she tried to hide her fear, she couldn’t stop the occasional quiver.
