Devil's Knight
Page 12
"We must stop," she said.
"Nay."
She bristled. Did he never heed nature's call? Perhaps the devil aided him in that, too. The destrier dipped with the uneven ground, and she clenched her teeth against the screaming muscles that protested her rigid seat.
Gripping the pommel tighter, she tried to keep her back from brushing Rhys's front--a near impossible feat when she sat upon his hard thighs, and he all but hugged the breath from her middle. His forearm nestled under her breasts, pushing the soft mounds against his strength and sending lightning tremors to her spine with each hoof that put down. She tried to ignore the arousing friction to her nipples. And failed.
Obviously, Rhys lacked trust in her not to chance an escape, despite his warnings. Good. Let him worry.
His chase was nothing more than a hound staking claim to a bone. She stifled a snort. Aye, prideful men landed her in this mess, and she needed to keep her wits about her to get out.
Again, the ugly reality reared, a suffocating tightness in her chest. Rhys coveted her land, and she was so much unnecessary baggage. She pushed a stray lock behind her ear.
Lull him with compliance.
Then, what?
Think.
In the midst of her silent debate, the need to seek privacy became greater. She realized, then, that her arm rested in familiar comfort atop the mailed one at her waist. Her hands sought the pommel.
"Rhys," she said, forcing sweetness, "please, I must stop."
"Later, Juliana."
The lout was merciless. She clenched her teeth harder against the pressing demand.
"Now, if you please."
"Why?"
"I need a moment."
"Why?" he repeated.
By the Saints, the man lacked manners, as well as direction. He wanted to know, so by God, she'd tell him. Forgetting her resolve to curb her tongue, Juliana twisted and frowned into his helm-shadowed face.
"My teeth are swimming, you wretch. Stop this horse before I--"
"Whoa." Rhys hauled back on the reins. "You need only ask, my lady. I trust you'll behave."
Jesu, the man brought out her worst.
Rhys dismounted, removed his head gear and tied it to the pommel.
When he reached for her, she clamped her unruly mouth shut and allowed him to help her down. That the broad hands around her waist suspended her a moment longer than needed, she let pass. At least, she'd get a few minutes alone, a few minutes without his unsettling presence, a few minutes to break and run.
Once on her feet, she missed his warmth and pulled her mantle tighter against the chill. Then, she took a step toward the underbrush.
Rhys took a step, too.
"Where do you think you go?" she said.
"I won't let you out of my sight."
"Where would I run?" She stared at him in frustrated disbelief and threw out her hand to include the area. "I might not be in England for all I know."
"You know that lackwit's life is in my hands, that's all you need to know."
He played foul. Her mouth formed a hard line. "You're a wretched man."
A quick glance back toward Alain and Oliver saw no help there. On one side of her, Alain shrugged, and from the other, Oliver returned an annoyed stare. The beat in her head increased.
"Come, then," she said. "If you must."
Dismissing Rhys like an irritating fly, she hiked her skirts and tromped into the thicket ahead of him. Sticky threads brushed the back of her hand and she jerked her arm away, stifling a distressful cry before she changed directions.
"I hate spiders," she gasped, dragging her hand quickly against her mantle.
When she judged herself far enough away from the other two knights for privacy, she slowed and turned around to beg Rhys's patience, only to discover him leaned against a tree with his back towards her.
"No farther than that bush," he warned over his shoulder. "I have very good hearing."
She felt flush to her toes. As she hurried with her task, Juliana fumed at his audacity, then seriously questioned her disgraceful weakness.
Rhys addled her wits. The man confirmed her worst fears about his intentions, and yet, she fell into his greedy arms with the eagerness of a lost puppy.
Porridge. She'd become a mass of mindless, shameless porridge. Worse, to her horror, she hadn't cared at the time.
Unless she regained control of her wayward emotions, she'd lose herself in that man, enough to shatter when he pushed her aside. Compared to that devastating hurt, the threat of life with Malcolm paled.
And so her confused mind rambled, until she reappeared.
"Modesty is a becoming trait in a wife," Rhys said.
Startled from her morose thoughts, Juliana gazed at her tormentor.
He turned toward her and leaned one shoulder against the bark, an indolent, carefree stance. A force unto himself, he reeked of power and arrogance. Moonlight glistened like a blue veil of water on the hair that framed his face, emphasizing the strong jaw and boyish grin.
Juliana groaned. Against her will, longing spiraled through her chest to her thighs. Her heart tripped a wild flutter. She started, appalled with herself.
"Suffer the lack, for I won't wed with you." She stepped to pass by him.
He blocked her path.
"You will," he said, looking down at her.
She halted, nose to his broad, mailed chest. Her breathing accelerated. With her hands clutching her skirts, she couldn't run the pads of her fingers over his taut muscles, or entwine them in his wiry curls, or feel his warm skin. But on a wanton surge of desire, she could remember.
Too well.
Her gaze jerked to his face. A moan lodged in her throat. She couldn't feel his ebony strands caressing her cheek, or taste the raspy texture of his tongue. But, unable to tear her gaze from his sensual mouth, she remembered.
Much too well.
Her trembling body remembered, too. She licked lips that suddenly tingled. He uttered a strangled growl and his expression darkened, but his impatience didn't dissuade her gnawing urge to sway closer to his body.
"Greedy oaf," she said and retreated an unsteady step.
"Spoiled wench," he drawled, mimicking her move with a forward stride.
"Be reasonable. We'd not last a night," she argued, inching backward until her heel knocked the base of a tree. "Much less forever."
Unable to pull her wide-eyed gaze from his, she leaned back into the wood's solidity, gripping the bark at her sides to support her languid knees.
"But we do match well," Rhys said in a silky whisper. He reached a finger toward her and stroked her cheek with his knuckle.
Warmth burst in her stomach and lower. The slight roughness of his skin scraped her raw nerves. His husky voice flowed over her like a midnight stream. Deep and enticing.
"The sun and the moon," he murmured. "Fire and ice."
He squeezed out the night as he closed in on her, anchoring her with no more force than his burning gaze. Promising. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to deny his magnetic pull, powerless to turn aside.
"Such expressive eyes," he whispered. "I like the way you look at me."
"What way?"
"Soft... hungry... hot," he breathed against her lips.
On an escaping whimper, Juliana sagged against the tree.
Rhys drank in the low cry, brushing his mouth feather light against hers.
"Imagine, sweet Ana, the sleepless nights we'd share, forever."
She gasped, pleasure rippling through her body.
Again, he touched her lips with his mouth. Tender, full, and slick.
"Give me your fire, Ana," he whispered, then pressed a firmer kiss. "For me, lick your--"
Done before he asked. Wet and wanting lips begged for his.
"Nice," Rhys murmured on a thread of breath.
He slanted his mouth over hers, dipping his tongue between her parted lips, coaxing the warmth from her hidden crevices, kissing her long and deep.
Oblivious to all save the wild, rhythmic stroking, Juliana searched his satiny depths. She savored his throaty growl when she pressed harder to taste him more fully. Nothing she'd ever experienced compared to the quivering ache building within her. Her legs trembled. Her hands shook.
He pulled back a fraction of a breath and murmured, "Ana?"
More she wanted to cry. Her hands dropped to her sides, groping the bark for balance. Cloves teased her nose as he rested his bristly jaw against her cheek. The sound of harsh breathing invaded her ear.
His arousing pull curled her fingers, until a splinter gouging under her nail poked through his sensual haze. And drove his empty flattery through her heart like a stake. The long-held knowledge that men used any means to get what they sought renewed her sanity.
Unlike Roger's overt bullying, Rhys used charm to bring her to heel. He muddled her thinking to seek her consent--an approach much more dangerous to her than any physical abuse.
Juliana knew well how to deal with a man's coarse and direct methods, but this subtle chipping away at a lifetime of defenses left her reeling off center.
But she'd not drop her guard again. She'd played the pawn for men enough. Rhys might command her traitorous body, but she vowed he'd never hold her heart. She'd never give him that much control over her.
So resolved, Juliana stiffened and knocked his hand away from her chin.
"Cease your mauling," she said, above a raging heartbeat. "If you wait for me to seek out your bed, then my lord, you'll burn forever."
"Liar," he said and straightened away from her. "Forever is too long a time for you to bank your sweet fires."
His confident amusement infuriated her. Fearful she'd weaken again, she barged past him in a huff, then spoiled her set-down by tripping on her dangling hem. A strong hand whipped out and broke her fall.
"Now what?" Rhys grumbled.
Heat surged to her hairline. For an instant, Juliana considered burrowing into the mulch that lay inches beneath her nose. Instead, she regained her balance, threw her messy braid back over her shoulder, and blew hair from her eyes--in time to see Rhys hunker down beside her, his features softening with amused concern.
She wanted to scream.
One chuckle. . . if she heard one chuckle, she'd hit him.
"Sweeting," he said, "'tis truly a wonder you haven't suffered a lasting injury to now."
"This," she gasped, "is all your fault." Not trusting herself to burst out crying, she bent double to tug the chemise's soiled linen strip from under her foot. "I'm not a clumsy woman." She cringed as a doubtful brow arched in response. "Perhaps, in light of our few mishaps, those words may lack substance. . ."
She flexed her fingers as his mouth turned up at the corners. Wisely, no sound escaped him.
"I have not suffered so much misfortune in my life," she continued, "until you arrived. You truly are a plague on helpless women."
For some reason, that brought a mocking gleam to his eyes.
"Juliana, I quake to imagine you in mail."
She lowered her head. Tears scalded her eyelids and the ragged piece of underskirt between her fingers blurred. Too man-ish. So that's how Rhys saw her. Oh, good for a quick tumble and a few hides of land. But his precious Isobel, no doubt, stood a paragon of grace and feminine allure, and Juliana was unwomanly by comparison.
He probably preferred a small and fragile thing like her new stepmother.
Juliana heaved a bitter sigh and swallowed her self-pity. Useless wishing took energy, and after the turbulent day she'd endured, she'd none to spare. Of a sudden, fatigue settled around her shoulders like a heavy blanket.
"Hold still," Rhys said, taking the strip of cloth. "I'll fix it."
She smacked his hand as she realized his intention. "This is one of my best."
Clutching the material, he ignored her tap and went still.
"Despite what you believe, I'm not a poor man. I can purchase cloth enough to sew another."
Through the staccato beat in her head, she heard the anger vibrating in his voice and realized he'd taken insult. She blew a short breath. God save her from the delicate ego of men.
"Rhys, you do not understand."
"Enough," he said, flicking his wrist.
"I want you to leave me alone."
He ripped off the fabric scrap.
"I can't."
His quiet admission left her bereft of speech. What bedeviled him enough to set him on this vile course and keep him to it with such determination?
Did she judge him in haste?
Moonling. Juliana shook that much too charitable thought clear. She'd heard his greedy reasons spew from his own mouth: I intend to get the land you bring. But I have no need of you. I won't be the first man to lock an unwanted wife away and forget her.
By the Saints, she wasted time worrying about him. She had enough troubles of her own to worry with. As he knelt before her, she watched him turn the linen in his hand. Pale light gleamed on the puzzled frown that crossed his features.
"'Twas cut?" he said.
She sighed in frustration.
Even if she hadn't sworn herself to silence, she refused to give this man a reason to find fault with her cousin as a knight. Oliver suffered enough insult from Roger. Too, she preferred not to hear Rhys repeat his crass opinion of what he thought he'd witnessed.
"An even line is easier to mend," she said, and grabbed for the strip.
"I said, I'll replace it."
Rhys held his hand out of her reach, glowered at the piece again, then stood up. Wadding the scrap, he tossed it into the brush.
"Come," he said, grabbing her hand.
She huffed after him. "Have you no consideration for the misery of others?"
"None," he said and dragged on her arm.
At last, he uttered a word of truth.
"Cease pulling," she said, digging in her heels, but to no avail. "I'm not a horse trained to the bit."
"Were you a horse, I'd have slapped your rump," he said over his shoulder, then tugged again. "Don't test me, Juliana, the notion has merit. And I've entertained the thought more than once this night."
The odd note in his voice irked her. What a confusing man. One minute he threatened her, the next he laughed at her expense, and the next he kissed her with passion.
"I won't go with you," she said to his back, skirting a sapling and ducking a branch.
"I'll decide that."
He yanked her along, until they reached the horses. To Juliana's consternation, she noted that neither Oliver, nor Alain seemed concerned with their lengthy absence.
Dolts. For all they knew, Rhys spent the time beating her to a bloody pulp, instead of kissing her mindless. Great lot they cared.
She glared at the two men. Her cousin's sudden chumminess with one of her kidnappers set her teeth on edge. The throbbing moved behind her eyes.
The betraying swine. No doubt she was headed for a locked tower in some dingy fortress, while here, Oliver sat courting new friends.
"Anyone?" called Rhys. He nodded upon receiving Alain's negative head shake.
Hands still linked, Juliana twitched her fingers to get his attention. The tiny movement flashed a thought through her mind--such a strong hand, yet capable of touching her with infinite gentleness. She refused to dwell on that discovery.
"I'd speak a moment with Sir Oliver," she said, crinkling her forehead and adding, "please."
"Leave him alone," Rhys said, then threw a quiet injunction to the two men, "mount up."
His sudden coolness frightened her.
"But what will happen to him?"
"My lady, you should have thought of that before you enlisted his aid."
Juliana paled and rubbed her temple. To what fate had she doomed Oliver? Roger responded to every slight with calculated viole
nce. He'd show no mercy to Oliver for aiding her in acting against his wishes. But what unspeakable retribution lurked in this lord's mind?
"Please," she said. She clasped her other hand around his forearm. "Don't hurt him. 'Twas my plan. Do what you will with me, but spare Oliver. Return him to his father, please. Return him unharmed, and I'll--I'll go anywhere you wish, do anything you ask."
Rhys leaned into the arm nestled close to her body.
The gleam she watched appear in his gaze sent new frissons of heat cascading to every limb and secret place. Nay, not the face of the devil's demon, she decided.
The devil himself sought her soul, and God help her, he had blue eyes.
"Anything?" Rhys whispered in that voice that dragged across her raw heart like rough velvet.
The lout. He enjoyed games.
Juliana jerked her hand from his, ran shaky fingers through the flyaway hair above her forehead, then again dusted off her clothes. A disgusted groan bubbled in her throat. Must she always appear like a ragged waif? She mentally shook that vanity away.
"You mean to dangle Oliver's safety over my head like an axe, don't you?"
"I mean to insure your obedience."
"I won't have you," she repeated.
He grinned, a wicked tilt to his tempting mouth. "You still don't understand?"