Perhaps she was safer with the reivers. Bryce was enraged, his anger made more ferocious by the sweat and blood mixed on his face. He pulled her up and, without a single word, placed her on his horse. Mounting in front of her, Bryce forced her arms around him and signaled for Davie to follow.
And thus they began a long, slow ride back to Bristol.
She had failed and was very nearly raped. Mayhap would have been killed. She kept her hands from shaking by grasping Bryce’s tunic, now stained with the blood of the reivers. Were they dead? She wanted to ask but was afraid to talk.
They rode for what seemed like hours. In stony silence, Bryce expertly navigated the lush green landscape. Border country was dangerous. Tumultuous. But no one could argue the beauty of this untamed land. Instead, with a mounting sense of dread, she watched as the increasingly familiar Bristol Sprout came into view.
Bryce dismounted and fairly flung her off his horse. Gallantry was never his strong suit, but this…she’d never seen him so raw. Bryce’s well-controlled emotions were legendary, but his mask of indifference had fled like the third reiver. Without so much as a backward glance at her, he tied both horses and walked away.
She watched as he began to disrobe for the second time that day. Just a few hours earlier, she had marveled at the sensuous sight before her. Now, as the sun began to dip in the sky, casting a warm glow over every part of the glen, she turned from his quick, angry movements. She wanted to wash as well. Although not quite as muddy, and certainly not as bloody, Catrina felt dirty.
And confused.
The same questions kept whirling around in her mind. How is he even awake? Are the reivers dead? Why do I feel so badly about drugging him? Why do I even care if he’s angry?
Because he had saved her, again. She shuddered again at the thought of what would have happened if he hadn’t intervened.
Shoved back into reality by the hand that spun her around, Catrina prepared to defend herself.
Bryce should have stopped her much sooner, but curiosity had gotten the better of him. Did the woman actually think to ride across the border alone?
As soon as he saw those men, he rode as fast as the terrain would allow. By the time he reached them, Catrina had already been pulled from her horse. Rage unlike anything he’d ever experienced engulfed him. The kind of anger that surfaced every time he thought of the day of the Kerrs’ raid.
He would kill each of the men who’d dared lay a finger on Catrina.
Bryce was not usually quick to judge. His uncle and brother, after all, had stooped to reiving to support their family. But the way these reivers had handled Catrina told him all he needed to know about their character.
By the time Catrina was safe and the two men who’d touched her lay dead by the river, the haze of fury that had gripped him began to recede. He regained enough presence of mind to allow the third man to escape with his life.
Although the men he’d cut down had deserved to die, the intensity of his rage was more than a little unsettling. For the first time in his life, Bryce was actually afraid. Not the jittering of nerves that came before a fight or the fear that was natural before a battle. This was a fear that gripped him so deeply, he knew the carefully constructed walls he’d erected since Huntington were slowly being torn down.
By a Kerr.
He couldn’t even speak to her on the ride back. He was furious with her. For drugging him. For putting her own life at risk. But he couldn’t focus on that; all he could see was the vision of her being surrounded by thieves.
He would not return to Bristol Manor like this. His people needed reassurance that he could keep calm and collected in the face of danger, and he knew he looked like a savage brute. So instead of bringing her home, he rode back to the sprout.
After washing away the blood, dirt, and sweat from his body, Bryce prepared to tell Catrina exactly what he thought of her escape attempt.
But rather than giving her the tongue lashing she deserved, he grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. Her face was streaked with mud, her hair a tangled mess.
She was beautiful.
Bryce pulled her against his bare chest and brought his mouth down.
“What are you—” She gasped when she realized his intent. But rather than push away, she allowed him the access he desperately needed. His mouth moved over hers, his tongue wasting no time exploring the sweetness within. He groaned as her hands gripped the bare flesh of his back as if he supported her weight to stand.
They felt so small, so soft.
Bryce kissed her, deeply, for as long as he dared. No longer hesitant, she touched her tongue to his. He gladly claimed it. His cock pulsed, begging for release.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to stop. Just the opposite. If this continued much longer, he would dishonor himself, his family, and the woman in his arms by taking her, consequences be damned.
He didn’t, however, let her go.
“What in the hell were you thinking, Catrina?”
Still wrapped in his arms, her face inches away from his, Catrina blinked, one lonely tear forming in the corner of eye.
“I…I wasn’t, apparently.”
He wiped away the tear, his thumb moving slowly across her face. He kissed the smooth skin where the tear had been. He kissed her cheek, her neck. She leaned her head back, giving him access to the soft, perfect flesh that led…he would not think of it.
“Bryce, how—”
“Nay, not now.”
As much as he wanted to understand fully what she planned—he was still incredulous at her audacity—he decided their discussion could wait.
He would not dishonor them both, but he was no monk.
More gently, now assured she was indeed alive and uninjured, he trailed his lips down her neck, over the top of her chest. He kissed as low as her riding gown would allow. And when he reached the offending barrier, layers of clothing inhibiting his progress, he turned his attention back to her lips. He moved his hands under her breasts, cupping them and squeezing gently.
She moaned against his lips and pressed herself against him. He circled his hips and allowed her to feel his need, even though she wouldn’t understand.
He wanted to be inside her. Wanted her more than he ever wanted anything in his life. And that was nearly as terrifying as watching her be manhandled by a marauding gang of border reivers.
“Turn around.” His voice was hardly recognizable to his own ears. Thick with desire. Not the typical desire he felt with a willing woman in his hands. This was less controlled, more powerful.
That she did so without question almost stilled his hands. This woman had been through so much. She’d survived her injuries, only to be captured by Toren’s enemy. She’d done something incredibly stupid and brave by attempting to escape alone, and now here she was, a captive once again. She had as much right to hate him as he did her. The thought startled him. Bryce had been so focused on how much he despised Toren Kerr that he’d never once considered the fact that she, too, had been wronged.
Now was not the time for such revelations.
He made quick work of the ties at her back. He helped her step out of the gown that was already ruined and tossed it aside. Spinning her back toward him, he crushed her to him, frantically running his hands over every inch of her kirtle. He kissed her deeply, lowering his hands to her buttocks.
Bryce pulled her so close that, if it weren’t for his hose and the thin layer of cloth between them, they could be joined. It was heaven…and torture. Her tongue met his every thrust, and as their bodies pressed together, she gave herself over to him completely.
He wasn’t so sure he could stop.
This could not continue. But did one willingly forgo pleasure this intense? It was nothing like their first kiss. This one held the promise of more. And though she knew it was wrong, hated him for making her feel this way, Catrina tilted her head to allow for even greater access.
The muscles she had appreciate
d from afar earlier that day were now beneath her fingertips. Catrina had understood his intent the moment he told her to turn around. And yet she’d done it without question. The feeling of his strong fingers removing her stays sent surges of pleasure throughout her body, pooling in her core, and her knees almost buckled as he pulled their bodies together. Her head spinning and knees weak, Catrina decided it was futile to deny what was obvious. She wanted him to kiss her.
She was curious.
You’ve never been this curious about Graeme.
Oh God, her betrothed. Or the man she thought to marry, at least. What was she thinking? This was not right.
Pulling away from Bryce was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.
“Bryce, stop.”
And just like that, it was over. He stepped away from her, looking down as the haze of desire lifted for them both.
She stared at his tan, muscled chest. The one that had wielded a sword so expertly against the reivers. She itched to touch him again. She wanted to apologize for the foolish words that had made him stop.
Instead, she reached for her gown. She stepped into it wordlessly and allowed the Englishman to re-tie her laces.
“Have you had much practice at being a lady’s maid then?”
She immediately regretted her words. They were meant as a jest, but it sounded more like an accusation.
“Aye, I have.”
The lout wasn’t even joking. He had taken her seriously and answered in kind. Now she was genuinely curious. “I wouldn’t think a knight on the run would have much opportunity for such sport.”
She couldn’t see his face, but mirth was evident in his voice. “You’d be surprised.”
He finished and spun her around once again. And sure enough, Bryce was actually smiling.
“You are much more handsome when you smile.” Good Lord, had she really just said that out loud? Instead of taking offense, he raised his eyebrows and smiled wider.
“Alas, another compliment I’ve heard many times before.”
“You are a beast!” Though she tried to look stern, his smile was contagious.
“So you do have a sense of humor? I hadn’t thought it possible.”
Bryce sighed, his smile fading.
“I keep it well-hidden.” And though the words were said lightly, she sensed a deeper meaning. So he did work at being the stone-faced, humorless man she first met. Why?
“Did you honestly think to escape back home, alone?”
“Do you honestly think I feel the need to explain myself…to my captor?”
And just like that, they were back to being enemies.
“Suit yourself. But know this. You’ll not have the run of Bristol Manor any longer. You can’t be trusted.”
It was nothing less than she’d expected. And feared.
“Pardon me, my lord, if I don’t sit docilely by as you attempt to lure my brother back to Bristol to be slaughtered. Don’t bother looking surprised. You’re after revenge, and you’ll be just as satisfied, maybe more, if he doesn’t pay the ransom. It doesn’t take a master tactician to understand your motives. But know this. It will not work. Toren will never allow himself to be killed by coming to the aid of a sister who managed to get herself captured by the enemy.”
Whether he believed her or not, it didn’t matter. Convincing Bryce that she was nothing more than a drain on his resources was the only plan she had left because there was no way he’d allow himself to be duped a second time.
Which reminded her…
“How are you even awake?”
“That, my dear Catrina, is a good question. One you’re welcome to ponder as you sit alone in your chamber waiting for the errant brother you insist will not come.”
With that, he spun away from her.
Damn the man to hell.
Because Toren would come. Soon. And it would be the death of him.
12
A week had passed since her failed escape. True to his word, Bryce had locked Catrina back in the small bedchamber with no other company than her maid. Nearly mad with worry, she tried more than once to appeal to Bryce, through Elise, for information.
Nothing. It didn’t help that the maid was peeved at her for attempting to leave without so much as a goodbye.
When she wasn’t worrying about her family, Catrina’s thoughts returned to the very man who imprisoned her. She pictured his muscled arms wrapped around her. His lips on hers.
Would Graeme make her feel that way?
He was nearly as large, a warrior in every sense. The clan chief was handsome and infinitely honorable, insisting he would honor the vow he’d made when they were young children.
Someday, she would be his wife despite their clans’ feud. The argument that had turned the Kerr and deSowlis clans from friend to foe mattered little to her. Thinking of herself wed to Graeme at least took her thoughts away from ones that were much more dangerous.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. The normally quiet Elise burst into the room in a flurry of activity. She had apparently forgiven Catrina for her escape attempt. That her daughter was eating well likely had something to do with the girl’s cheery temperament.
“Hurry, milady. You need to be changing for the midday meal.” Without waiting for a response, she began looking through the carved chest at the foot of the bed. Pulling out a serviceable dark blue gown, one of Catrina’s favorites as she had assisted in dyeing the color herself, Elise descended on her.
“I’m not sure I understand,” Catrina thought aloud. Was she really being let out of her chamber? Why?
“The lord requested your presence. And sent me to fetch you. ‘Quickly now.’ Those were his exact words.”
Though she allowed Elise to assist her, Catrina absolutely refused to do it “quickly.” She closed her eyes as the maid ran a brush through her long, sometimes unwieldy hair. The air was damp, even more so than usual for spring. A natural wave to her hair that seemed to be worse this time of year made poor Elise’s task more difficult.
“Shall I add a veil, my lady?”
Because she was unmarried, Catrina could wear her hair unbound. Most ladies covered at least part of their heads, but she was reluctant to do so. She wasn’t sure why, but it just seemed…excessive.
“Nay, and slow down, Elise. There’s no hurry.”
“No hurry?” Elise bit her lip, looking so worried Catrina laughed and put her hand over the other girl’s slender fingers. “Listen to me, Elise. There will always, always, be someone more powerful than you telling you what to do. Take small victories when you can and do it with conviction.”
She could tell Elise wasn’t convinced. Who could blame her? Catrina rued the freedom her brothers were given that she was not, but Elise had even less than she did.
“Aye, milady.”
“I can see you’re worried. Come.”
She stood, adjusted the gold-braided hip belt, and lifted her gown so that Elise could slip on her favorite soft brown leather shoes.
Passing the guard who hadn’t spoken to her since her attempted escape, Catrina made her way down the winding staircase. The first course was already being served. She walked up to the slightly raised dais and, for the first time since entering the hall, looked at Bryce.
Glowering at her as fiercely as he had upon their first meeting, he nodded to the seat next to him. She sat and accepted a mug of ale.
“Your brother received my reply and sent his own. It seems we’re at an impasse.”
So that’s why she was here. To discuss terms. Catrina carefully avoided touching him while reaching for a piece of roasted duck from their shared trencher. Unfortunately, their separation didn’t seem to have quelled the tension between them. It was as if invisible spider webs bound them together.
“He refused to pay the ransom,” she ventured.
“Not exactly.”
That did surprise her. A quick glance at his profile confirmed he was telling the truth.
“He
offered to meet to discuss the terms of your release.”
Ha! Toren would discuss serving Bryce’s head for dinner, but not much else. She could sense he was still looking at her, watching her for a reaction, so Catrina concentrated on her meal instead. What did he expect her to say?
“Look at me, Catrina.”
No. She would not be ordered about by him any longer.
“Catrina, I said look at me.” His low voice had an edge she’d heard before, on the day of her botched escape. She looked and wish she hadn’t. Bryce’s jaw was locked, his clear eyes narrowed. He looked distinctly…dangerous.
“Toren is gathering an army.”
Somehow she managed to appear calm. Disinterested. An army? Of whose men? How did he know that?
“Oh?” She calmly took a sip of ale. “That’s nice.”
“It appears his allies have answered the call on account of your captivity.”
“Splendid.” She took another bite of duck. The cook had done a fine job of spicing a meat she typically disliked.
“We anticipated as much. With one exception.”
She refused to give him a reaction. “I imagine you did.”
Catrina would not look at him.
“A clan large enough to necessitate reinforcements from Kenshire.”
Why was he telling her this? She was, after all, his prisoner, something of which she needed no reminder after this last week. Then again, Catrina supposed she had no one to relay the information to. She lifted the mug once again to her lips.
“Clan deSowlis.”
She swallowed the ale so quickly it threw her into a coughing fit. She was lucky not to have spilled the contents on herself. deSowlis? Impossible. They hated each other.
She finally met Bryce’s intense gaze.
“That can’t be.” Kerr and deSowlis? Working together? Had Toren asked Graeme for help? Graeme would have requested a betrothal first. Did that mean…
“Am I betrothed?” He, of course, wouldn’t know the answer. “And why do you look like you want to murder me?” She certainly hadn’t done anything wrong. But it was true. Bryce looked as angry as she’d ever seen him. “And how do you know all of this?”
The Lord's Captive (Border Series Book 2) Page 11
