by Julia Latham
“Are you still cold?” he asked.
She could feel the rumble of his voice where his chest met her back. She shook her head, not trusting her own voice. His hand at her stomach frightened her. He could move it…anywhere.
But after several long moments, she realized he didn’t plan to do anything. He’d fallen asleep. She stifled a groan and closed her eyes at last. She’d never been the kind of woman men made fools of themselves over. Even her close proximity didn’t affect Sir Adam.
But he affected her, and she didn’t like it.
It was a long time before she could sleep, and even then her sleep was fitful. She awoke every time Sir Adam moved, as if she expected him to pounce. At one point, someone was rebuilding the fire, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Sir Robert glance at her. To her astonishment, he winked, as if this were all a game to him. She gave him the most intense glare she could manage and slammed her eyes shut.
Some time before dawn, she must have finally fallen into a deep sleep, for she only awoke groggily when Sir Adam shook her arm. She blinked, feeling stiff and exhausted, and opened her eyes to the gray light. Sir Robert and Sir Michael were already up, only flattened grass the proof that they’d slept.
But Sir Adam was still behind her, she thought uneasily, wondering why he, too, hadn’t left her alone. And then she remembered the rope at her wrist.
She could feel him coming up on his elbow behind her, the way his chest slid up her back. Though she didn’t want to, she looked over her shoulder to see his face above hers. For a moment, he wasn’t looking at her, and she was able to study him. His black hair was rumpled from sleep, and there was a crease along his cheek where he’d rested against his arm.
And then he met her gaze. For a frozen moment, neither of them said anything. His blue eyes, the color of frigid lake water, seemed to bore into hers, and she wondered what he was looking for, what he saw. His hand rested on her hip. She realized she could feel the length of each of his fingers, holding her as if she were his possession.
And then he slid away from her and rose to his feet all in one smooth motion. The rope binding them together gave a tug, lifting her arm.
“Arise, Lady Florence,” he said, looking down on her from his great height. “We must depart.”
“Where are we going?”
“You will see.”
She grumbled as she arose stiffly from the ground, cold now without his warmth. “Why is it a secret? Whom will I tell?”
“Whom might you tell?” he countered. “After all, I will not give you such a chance. Now, shall we refresh ourselves this morn? Robert says there is a stream nearby.”
She held out her wrist, but he ignored her, only turning away and tugging her along with him. Frantically, she looked behind her for help, but Sir Michael was only folding up their blanket, and Sir Robert was wearing that same silly smile. How could he find amusement in this terrible situation?
She heard the stream before she saw it, and she came up short when Sir Adam stopped right in front of her. She was forced to catch his elbow or fall. She cursed the uneven ground. But her captor didn’t berate her.
“Shall I have a moment of privacy first,” he said, “or will you?”
She held up her bound wrist, but again he ignored her.
“Very well, I will.”
To her horror, he stepped behind a tree, and the rope gave gentle tugs as he unfastened the necessary clothing. Florrie was so embarrassed that even the tops of her ears burned.
When he emerged a moment later, he didn’t even seem bothered by such intimacy.
“We’ll find you another tree,” he said.
She was so upset, so beside herself with mortification, that she only groaned and gave him a push. He didn’t budge, only looked down at her with puzzlement.
“Was there some purpose in that?” he asked coldly. “After your foolish escape last night, I could very well stand over you while you—”
“Enough!” She covered her ears. “I have never been treated so horribly in my life!”
He gripped her wrists, pulled her hands away from her ears, then bent down so that he was speaking directly into her face. “This situation will not change, Lady Florence. The sooner you accept and submit, the easier this will be on all of us.”
“I am supposed to make this easier on you?” she cried, aghast.
“Then easier on yourself. Your behavior this morn will determine whether I gag you for the day. I cannot have you screaming for help.”
Her mouth sagged open. “Gag me? Will that not look suspicious?”
“’Tis amazing what the hood of a cloak will hide,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.
“Ooh, you—” But she broke off when he only arched one of his devilish eyebrows.
Marching around him, she found her own tree and did what she had to, grumbling and cursing at her awkward skirts. When she emerged, she marched right past him, knowing she was spoiling the effect of her outrage by limping. He could have remained still, yanking her to a halt, but he followed her silently. At the stream, which bubbled over rocks on its way downhill, she dropped to her knees, plunged her hands into its icy coldness, then splashed her face, hoping to scrub away her exhaustion. She would need all her wits about her this day.
Sir Adam knelt beside her and did the same, then took several deep gulps from his cupped hands. She could not help staring at him with bemusement. How was he connected to her father? She’d never seen him before. He seemed to have the manners and speech of a wellborn man, but there was something…different about him. Besides being a kidnapper, of course. Though he was gruff, and she was embarrassed at how close they had to remain, he was treating her with a modicum of civility. He could have terrorized her, attacked her—anything, since she was at his mercy. Little did he know, her father probably wouldn’t care.
But Sir Adam’s entire focus seemed to be to challenge her father—not kill him, just challenging him as a noble knight would. But there was something in Sir Adam’s past that made him think he needed a reason for her father to accept the challenge—and that reason was her.
She needed to discover what was going on, and to do that, she had to stop being too afraid to even think. Sir Adam and his men were trying not to hurt her; she had to forget her circumstances and evaluate the situation.
Though her family had little use for her brain, she did have one. It was not as educated as she would have liked, but it did work. She had to use it now, to prove her worth by figuring out the puzzle of her captors.
Sir Adam turned to look at her, water dripping from his lips. Not breaking their shared gaze, he ran the back of his sleeve over his mouth.
She wouldn’t have any problem studying him—he was far too compelling.
Then he tugged on her arm. “Are you finished, my lady?”
What kind of kidnapper would address her so properly? She suddenly realized it was a mistake on his part. It gave his intentions away. He wasn’t going to hurt her.
“I am ready, Sir Adam.”
It was time to be bold, to see just how far he could be pushed. It was a risk that already made fear war with determination inside her, but she would not spend this journey cowering in fear.
Chapter 3
Back at their encampment, when Adam lengthened the rope at Lady Florence’s wrist, but didn’t remove it, he was surprised at her lack of protest. She only gave him a glare with those cool green eyes and looked away.
“Can you ride, my lady?” he asked, remembering to keep his voice gruff.
“Of course.” She glanced at the four saddled horses being brought out of the trees by Michael. “You are not bringing the cart?”
“It will slow us down,” Adam said.
“I should tell you that forcing me to ride on your horse with you will only make us look suspicious and draw unwanted attention.”
He held up the rope that connected them, tamping down a smile. “You may ride alone. Unless you need my assistance.”
He had a sudden thought that he might enjoy the day more if she was across his lap.
He shook such foolishness away. This wasn’t about enjoying the company of a woman. He would have to participate in such a novel experience another time.
“I shall ride alone,” she said, tilting her small nose into the air.
He’d chosen a smaller gelding for her, and now Michael led it forward.
“I hope you are used to riding astride,” Adam said.
“’Tis how I ride best,” she answered primly.
Robert and Michael exchanged a glance, and then Robert choked on his laughter. Lady Florence looked between them, betraying only a hint of uncertainty, before she focused on Adam. He wasn’t going to enlighten her about their amusement. As was his long-trained habit, he turned away to examine each horse and its equipment, so that he knew its condition for the start of the day. Due to the rope between them, she begrudgingly followed him about.
At last Lady Florence stood beside her horse, ignoring Adam, looking around as if for something to stand on to help her mount. He took her by the waist to set her in the saddle. She caught the pommel, gaping down at him, then pressed her lips together without speaking. He removed the rope from his wrist and carried it with him as he mounted his own horse at her side.
She frowned at him. “So I am to be leashed to you like an animal.”
He shrugged, noticing that she no longer seemed as afraid of him. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. “You have proven that it is necessary. If your behavior improves, things might change.”
She said nothing more, only took hold of the reins and guided her horse in a circle to follow Robert and Michael, forcing Adam to stay with her or let go of the rope.
At last they began the day’s journey, moving out of the trees and climbing steadily to the top of the moorland summit. All around them the county looked as barren as wasteland, all heather-covered moors with little evidence of trees. But below them spread the next valley, where there would be more game to hunt for a hot evening meal.
Adam, riding beside Lady Florence, took the lead. She said nothing for several hours, and when she wasn’t skillfully guiding her horse around rocks and holes in the path, she looked everywhere with interest, as if she’d never seen any of it before. Had she not traveled between her father’s many properties? He had prepared himself for tantrums and pleas, sadness or sullenness. Instead, she seemed…aware and curious. Perhaps she was looking for something—or someone—to help her?
She continued to dominate his thoughts that morn. His memories of the night spent pressed against her were uncomfortable for him. Though he’d feigned sleep to lull her into relaxation, he hadn’t been able to find much rest. He’d never spent an entire night with a woman. None had ever made him want to. But with Lady Florence, his body had been too aware of how soft she was, how her curves fit perfectly to his. Even the smell of her hair had proved too distracting. And her soft skin where he’d touched her wrist—
He adjusted his seat in the saddle and tried to think of something else. She was his prisoner, after all, and would never be more than that.
Once or twice, Robert tried to start a conversation with her while Adam played his part as the cold, remote leader. But she only hunched her shoulders and shook her head, as a cowed prisoner should. But something was…wrong about her behavior. Her eyes seemed to dart everywhere, studying, searching. Whenever an occasional shepherd appeared in the distance, Adam was always tense, wondering if she’d shout for help. He formulated plans to excuse her behavior, but he hadn’t had to use them—yet.
Florrie was relieved when at last they stopped for their midday meal on the lower slopes of the mountain. They used a stone wall separating pastureland to lean against, breaking the effect of the wind, and letting her feel the warmth of the sun. Adam sat beside her, as usual, although to her surprise, he removed the rope from her wrist so she could eat in peace.
“Thank you,” she said coolly.
He said nothing, did not even look at her.
But he’d been looking at her enough that morn. She’d felt it. He was a mass of contradictions: polite but cold. He was a leader who kept himself separate even from his men, both of whom had spent the morn chatting behind her as they rode.
Sir Robert handed her a slice of dried apple. “So why is your family castle here in Westmorland, such a barren land?”
Though she wanted to answer immediately, she deliberately hesitated and looked at Sir Adam, letting him think he cowed her. He only looked away.
“’Tis not barren,” she said, her voice full of hesitation. “Sheep are a great livelihood, and what our people cannot grow, they can trade for our cloth goods.”
“But why build here?” Sir Robert persisted.
“The castle was built several centuries ago, to gather men to be used to counter Scottish raids. ’Tis not my father’s only land, of course. He has many properties in different counties.”
“Where?” Sir Adam asked impassively.
She glanced at him, surprised he’d entered the conversation. “I—I do not know.”
“So you have never been to these properties? Your father does not travel to each of them?”
“Of course he does,” she said without thinking, then realized what he’d uncovered.
“But he never took you.”
“’Tis most likely because she was fostered,” Sir Robert said.
Was he trying to help her? She nodded quickly, although that was a falsehood. She knew Sir Adam was watching her closely. She did not want to give him any more information about her father.
“You are lying,” Sir Adam said abruptly. “So your father forbid his family from accompanying him, keeping them all secluded.”
“Hardly secluded,” she shot back. “You did see the prosperous castle, did you not? And besides, they all went with him whenever they wanted to.”
“But not you.”
How had this become about her? She sighed. “My leg made it hard to travel.”
“Then he must not have seen you ride.”
“Complimenting your prisoner now? How unusual.”
“’Tis not a compliment, but a fact.”
Sir Adam went back to his bread, and she thought he was done.
“So you didn’t foster with another family?” he asked. “Or was your castle too distant from another to make such sharing easy?”
She saw even Sir Robert and Sir Michael glance at each other again, as if they didn’t understand their leader. But she understood. He was trying to discover everything about her father and her family. It wouldn’t do him any good.
“I was fostered,” she said.
Those cold blue eyes pinned her.
“Briefly,” she amended at last.
“Is that where you broke your leg?”
Was her life so very easy to read? Of course it was, she thought, sighing. “Aye. They sent me home to recover and never asked me back. I did not mind. Being the youngest, I was a comfort to my mother, who was often bedridden.” She could have groaned. Why did these things keep tumbling from her lips? She wasn’t ready to talk about herself—she wanted to understand Sir Adam.
“So did you foster?” she asked.
He only arched a brow at her and looked away. She gritted her teeth, but told herself to be patient. He would become used to her, would eventually slip up and reveal something useful. She noticed that he narrowed his eyes as he gazed into the distance, and she turned to follow his line of sight.
A shepherd strode toward them down the hillside, making a path through his large herd of sheep with his every step. Florrie stiffened as Sir Adam’s hand rested on his dagger.
“Oh, do not hurt him!” she said softly, putting her hand on his forearm.
He looked at her hand, then back up at her. She didn’t move it, only felt the steely hardness of his muscles and the tension of a man who focused on only one thing.
“His fate rests in your hands.” His voice was
a low rumble that made her shiver. “You know what you must do.”
She nodded. “I shall say nothing. I give you my word.”
“But is your word good?”
She stiffened. She’d spent her life ignored, discounted, and lonely, all of which she’d tolerated and even understood. But just a suggestion that she might be dishonest offended her. Why was it so easy for her to react to Sir Adam’s every word? The only pride she’d ever felt had been in her ability to remain calm no matter the situation. Though other people had wondered how she could remain content and happy, she’d had no choice.
But all of her hard-won equanimity was fleeing beneath Sir Adam’s cool regard.
“My word is good,” she said simply, refusing to rise to his provocation.
The shepherd was almost upon them now, and to her surprise, Sir Robert and Sir Michael gave the young man open, easy smiles. The shepherd was dressed in a simple tunic and rough breeches, and he doffed his cap.
“Good day,” the shepherd said. “I be Arthur. We get few travelers here.”
He wouldn’t want these particular travelers, Florrie thought, once he saw Sir Adam’s forbidding face. She turned—and then had to cover her mouth rather than betray her surprise. Sir Adam’s entire posture had changed. He lounged easily against the wall, his arm resting on his bent knee, his open face a study in pleasant ease.
“Good day to you, Arthur,” Sir Adam said.
He even smiled as he spoke, and that smile brightened his face and lightened those cold eyes. She realized suddenly that he was a truly handsome man. In some ways that made her feel easier—she knew where she stood with handsome men.
“Would ye share a meal with us?” Sir Adam continued.
Arthur’s face shone with happiness. “I will, sir, if ye do not mind.”
The shepherd happily sat beside them. If he realized no one introduced themselves, he didn’t seem to care once he saw the cheese, fruit, and twice-baked bread. As he ate, he talked happily about the lost lamb he’d found yesterday and the wolf he’d driven off last week. Florrie’s three captors answered sparingly but with feigned interest, biding their time.
