The True One (One and Only Series Book 2)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  What the devil had changed? His frown etched deeper, then he realized his expression must have alarmed her.

  He gave a smile.

  Which only seemed to incite her further.

  Did embarrassment motivate her anger? Was she angry over her release? That he’d seduced her? Or that she’d allowed him to seduce her?

  It was a little late to yell fire after the building had already burned to the ground.

  Chapter 9

  An enormous full moon glowed against the midnight sky, providing the only illumination across the countryside. The group turned north and hastened across the moonlit opening. One look and anyone would know they were not tradesmen. Giles had promised to find Stephen, the brother of his best friend’s wife. Every muscle in his body was taut and on alert.

  His hands fisted tighter with every gallop. Strained until they reached the other side of the clearing where their horses would blend with the darkness. Stephen had fallen into some sort of trouble. Splinters from an English ship littered an inlet, which lead Giles and his men to a stronghold where a Rajput Chief resided. From what Elmes gathered when he’d sneaked inside, this particular prince resented the British Empire, and when the captain’s ship crashed, the chief captured the crew. A man fitting Stephen’s description had escaped with a bunch of rebels.

  After several more miles, the group dismounted. Creeping through the brush only increased his apprehension. Giles held up his hand. From the information they’d been given, this must be the place. Yet, the Rebel leader and his companions were nowhere to be found.

  George stepped beside him. “Where are they?”

  “Hiding, no doubt.” Giles narrowed his eyes, his instincts more vigilant in the darkness.

  “Those peasants may have been afraid of the prince, but I think they’re protecting the rebels. If the rebels think we’re in cahoots with the prince, this could be bad for us.”

  Giles agreed. Not much he could do about it at the moment. “The men are tired.”

  “We all know the importance of this mission. We’re fine.”

  “Until we find Katherine’s brother, we must push on.” The longer it took to find the rebels, the more his sense of foreboding. Danger signals ignited in the back of his brain.

  “Tis a great place for an ambush,” George said. “Just pray we have time to announce ourselves and offer a truce before the rebels kill us.”

  “We’re being watched.” Elmes stepped up beside them. He pulled a wad of tobacco from his pocket and bit off the end.

  The hair on Giles neck tingled. His colleagues never understood how he remained calm in critical situations, but he needed a clear head to make good decisions. Anger and fear lead to anxious choices, which most times resulted in disaster. His reserved manner had a nervous energy running underneath—not from nerves, more from excitement. His composure came as second nature to him. And if luck was on his side, he’d live to see another day.

  Men trickled from the brush, their weapons gleamed in the moonlight.

  “Saints be,” George exclaimed in a harsh breath.

  “Hold,” Giles quickly ordered in a harsh voice barely above a whisper. “Keep your heads.”

  One man came forward from the group. Two others trailed a short distance behind. By the first man’s confident stride, he must be their leader. Hair hung into his eyes, a day’s growth of beard covered his face. Even in the dark of night, his body portrayed strength and confidence.

  Giles took a tentative step forward hoping his life would not end abruptly.

  “As you can see, you are surrounded.” The man gave a slow movement of his hand gesturing to his men forming a circle. More came from the shadows.

  Giles took a deep breath, concentrating on the air going into his lungs and willed his muscles to relax. “We are not your enemies,” Giles said.

  “Ah. English.”

  “Yes. We are looking for another Englishman.”

  “What is this Englishman to you?”

  “A friend.”

  “Many claim to be friends when they are truly an enemy.”

  “This man is the captain of Serpent’s Ghost. He is the brother of my closest friend.” Well, his wife anyway. But that would take more explaining. Too much explanation would make him sound desperate and less truthful.

  The leader may have meant to hide his expression, but his eyes gave him away. Giles was an expert at reading a man’s body language, and an excellent judge of character as well. He would bet his life this was the man who took Stephen from that hellhole.

  “My name is Giles. My men follow my instructions. We are not here to cause anyone harm. You have my word.”

  “Your word?”

  The leader studied Giles as if he were a bug under a microscope. Damned uncomfortable, but he stood with the self-confidence of a man speaking the absolute truth.

  “My name is Tarak. And my men, also, are loyal to me.”

  “You must be the leader we heard about.”

  “You heard of me?” Tarak spoke with the calm and poise of a man in charge. His cool exterior portrayed his self-assurance and certainty that he had the upper hand.

  “Of a rebel leader who escaped a prison and took our friend with him. If you are he, you are a fair man. I am obliging to you.”

  Tarak seemed to consider his words. “You came here looking for me?”

  “I would do anything to find my friend. If you are the one who rescued him, then yes. I’ve come a long way to find him. Since the prince may also be looking for him and I hear he does not take kindly to Englishman, then time is of the essence.”

  “Your captain withstood more than a man can bear. He was near death when we escaped.”

  Fury ate at the bile churning in Giles’ stomach. Hating his next thought, Stephen had died, he prayed it was not so. He could not deliver news to Katherine that her brother was dead.

  “Where is he,” Giles grated through his teeth.

  “I don’t know.”

  Giles blinked to clear his mind. Surely he’d not heard the man right. Then his instincts kicked in and rage replaced his momentary grief.

  “What the bloody hell do you mean you don’t know?”

  Armor clicked and feet shuffled as the rebels aimed their rifles. Tarak held up one hand. “You forget where you are, Englishman.”

  Holding back his emotions, Giles flexed his hands for control. “I forget nothing. But, you must explain your earlier statement.”

  “I am the man who took your friend. He needed medical attention. I found a couple with healing herbs and such. We put your friend in their care. We fabricated a trail in the opposite direction for anyone who followed.”

  Giles’ chest eased a bit. At least another trail to follow instead of a grave.

  “I am apologetic, Englishman. I do not know if he lived. But if any man could live after what he went through, it is your friend. He survived far longer than I expected. Still, he was weak. And lost a lot of blood. You must prepare . . .”

  “The only thing I must prepare for is another journey,” Giles interrupted. “I am a man of facts, Tarak.”

  “Then you should remember it is quite possible the prince is also looking for your friend.”

  “I will remember. I will not give up. Tell me what you know.”

  Chapter 10

  Stephen didn’t like it. Not one bloody bit. The woman left before sunrise, and it was now dark. Even so, he glanced out the window again. Pitch black. Couldn’t see a blasted thing. He paced, if one could call the fumbling gait he managed a straight line.

  Turning, he bumped his toe. “Christ.” The damn thing throbbed like the very devil. Ridiculous really, when he’d survived much worse. He needed some footwear. Boots preferably. But where the devil would he get them out here? />
  He needed some decent clothes too. Good thing Jennifer knew how to use needle and thread. She added cloth to a pair of her husband’s breeches so Stephen could cover himself and not shock her female sensibilities.

  He gave a chuckle. She had ample opportunity to examine every inch of his marred skin. More than likely, she’d removed his rags under the cover of a sheet. He laughed out loud at the possibility.

  Bloody hell. This prolonged malady muddled his sanity. He needed something to do. He needed action. As if he hadn’t had enough turbulence in his life over the last few months. But then, he couldn’t be blamed for his fragile state.

  Thanks to his angel, his body had healed. Mostly.

  Where was she?

  He settled his weight in the wooden chair and leaned his arms on the table. Waiting without certitude, living without purpose agitated his mind. Days with nothing to do. Boredom he could not stomach. He stared at the glowing embers of the fire.

  A noise drew his attention. Stephen sprang from his seat and a string of oaths flew from his mouth when he nearly landed in the floor again. His ankles reminded him of his rash movement. The door to the little cabin opened. The imprisoned pain in his chest—the one he hadn’t realized grew with each agitated moment of her absence—vanished.

  He filled his eyes with her, quickly affirming she had come to no harm. At least the willful woman had on a gown.

  His peace of mind rapidly changed to anger. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

  With the calm of a saint, she slowly closed the door. He hadn’t realized she carried a bundle until she turned, placing her items on the table. She removed the wrapping from her head.

  Ready to spit nails, he flexed his hands to keep from strangling her. Then she raised her head, lavender pools glared at him.

  “Excuse me. I did not realize I had to get your permission for my movements. My actions are my own, Captain Radbourn. I’ll thank you to remember that.”

  “You were gone before dawn.” He spoke as though his reasoning should excuse his outburst.

  “If you must know, I went to market.”

  His brows shot to his hairline. “There’s a market around here?”

  “Some distance away. I had to leave early.”

  “You went alone.” He drew his brows together and his voice lowered.

  “I remind you, I have adapted to taking care of myself.”

  Still, it didn’t sit well with him. He woke to find her gone. After their lovemaking yesterday, he thought he’d scared her off. Or she was angry with him and had left in a tiff. Hell, he’d imagined all sorts of things.

  She unwrapped her bundle.

  “It took a while to find suitable shoes for a man of your size. Plus avoid suspicion as to why a widow would be buying man’s clothing.”

  “You found me some boots?”

  She held up her purchase. A leather pelt rolled into a ball. It was a boot alright. Not one resembling anything he’d seen before, but would serve its purpose.

  He rubbed his fingers over the soft rawhide. Spinning the chair around, he dropped onto its wooden surface. Working the covering over his ankle, he pulled the soft leather over his calf.

  “I thought these would be better for your ankles.”

  He glanced up to find she held a second shoe. He felt like an arse. With a humble ‘thank you’, he pulled on the second boot. Then, he wiggled his toes and flattened the hard soles on the floor. The tough undersides would protect the bottom of his feet from stones. The tightness around his ankles would help support any movement there.

  Snug fit.

  Perfect.

  “I’m not a thoughtless man. I’m used to my ways.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes. “You were gone before sunup and I was a mite worried. I’m sorry for my tone. Thank you for thinking of my needs.”

  Being indebted galled. This woman had been taking care of him for weeks. The fact he’d shown his unwarranted temper irritated him, rubbed him raw like a horse chafed a bare backside. He needed to pull his own weight. He’d never been in someone else’s debt. Damn, it ate at his craw.

  But where would he be without her? She didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his nasty temper.

  The man could show his gratitude with a bit more enthusiasm. Would a kind word be too much to ask? After all, she’d walked miles for him. After last night, Jennifer worried how she would react when she faced Stephen again. Excitement and shame filled her remembering their intimacy. With every step she took, the image of him burned brighter in her mind. Green eyes smoldering with promise. His mouth on her bare flesh. How she’d clutched him to her breast and gone mad while his fingers . . . Heat flushed her cheeks. She had to think of something else. Anything to avoid the memory flashing in her mind.

  What a relief to be home. She was tired and hungry and . . . She sniffed the air.

  “You prepared supper?”

  “Only a joint of meat and some boiled carrots.”

  She forgot her aching legs as the aroma of stew floated to her nostrils. Joy filled her at the realization she could relax and would not have to cook food.

  Stephen ushered her to the table. “Sit,” he said while he pulled the chair back for her.

  He hobbled to the fire, a plate in one hand. Her mouth watered as she watched him dip a ladle into the pot. Even with a limp, and possibly because of his sluggish movement, he looked more attractive than any man she’d ever encountered.

  “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “Why not?”

  She shook her head.

  “You think I am unable to cook a meal? A man of my size—my former size—needs to know a thing or two on how to prepare food. I like to eat.” He wiggled his brows. “Or maybe you think that I believe it is woman’s work.”

  “It’s exceedingly kind of you,” she spoke softly. “But your ankles. You should be resting.”

  “I’m no invalid.”

  “No. You’re a very strong man.”

  “Later I will rub your feet.”

  She straightened in her chair. A strange heat flared in her belly. Tearing off a piece of bread, she decided not to think about his hands on her feet. “Thank you . . . for the meal.”

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It is your food.”

  “I was really hungry. Very thoughtful of you, having it ready.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You’ve already eaten?”

  “No.” He dipped another plate for himself.

  “You waited for me?” Her voice filled with wonder, like the awe of a child seeing a falling star for the first time. The feeling staggered her. How long since anyone had considered her? She’d forgotten what it was like for someone to care for her.

  How ridiculous. She’d been alone for so long, his gesture caught her unaware. Sentiment was an emotion she could not afford. Stephen didn’t care. He was a stranger.

  But he had thought enough to fix supper.

  She toyed with the carrot on her plate. “May I ask you something?”

  He shot her a warm glance under hooded eyes. With a mouth full of bread, he nodded.

  She took a deep breath. “Do you . . . um . . . have a . . .”

  “Do I have a what?”

  She simply could not ask him what she yearned. Who cared if he’d kissed a dozen women in London? Maybe if she still lived there, she’d be one on his list of many. Those green eyes blazed with mischief. The man was too handsome for words.

  “Don’t be shy. If you want to know something, don’t let your sweet disposition hold you back.”

  “I am neither reticent nor sweet tempered.”

  He gave a bark of laughter. “No, you’re one of the most resilient women I’ve ever met. So what is it you want to know?”

 
“I simply wanted to make conversation.”

  He stabbed his meat with his fork and held it aloft while his eyes singed hers. “Ask me anything.”

  She tried for nonchalance. “Is there a special woman at home? Or in some port?”

  “One or several?” His grin split his face. Enjoying himself entirely too much.

  “It is no matter to me if you have a hundred strumpets.” She regretted her rash outburst. His eyes gleamed in amusement, the handsome devil, and he took his sweet time answering.

  “I like women. I think all women are beautiful. I have no wife and no intended. The only family I have are my sister and my aunt and uncle.” He plunged the meat into his mouth and chewed.

  Last night she’d made the mistake of letting down her guard. But was it a mistake? She‘d thrilled at his touch. Curiosity demanded she ask another question. Did she dare?

  “Why did you . . . you know . . . last evening?” She fluttered her hand about quickly changing her mind. “Never mind. Don’t answer.”

  “You don’t want me to answer, or you don’t want to know?” His gaze grew hotter.

  How would she ever find out if she didn’t grasp this moment? She carefully placed her fork on the table and met his stare. “I want to know.”

  An ironic smile touched his lips. If he laughed at her she’d slug him. He must have sensed her temper, for his hand covered her fist.

  “You’re a fine woman, Jennifer. Beautiful, in fact. I’m a man. Your lips are full and invite a man’s kisses. You tasted just as sweet as I knew you would. Once I tasted you, when you responded to my kisses, well, you fit well in my arms and you inflamed my passion.”