Tamed By Your Desire Part 9

Alex swore and she opened her eyes. He couldn't do it. After all his planning, he couldn't harm her. One look at the uncertain fear in her soft eyes and his fury petered away.

He would steal another kiss. He told himself it was the least he could do to chastise her. Her mouth was parted to speak, but he kissed her. She struggled, her hands fisting against his chest and pus.h.i.+ng. Her mouth was soft beneath his, sweet. Her breath sighed into him, filling him... and then she went limp in his arms. He examined her slack features, annoyed at himself. He'd frightened her into a faint.

This was not his finest moment. He'd never even paid for women before and here he was, forcing himself on this wee thing and scaring her into insensibility. He looked around, trying to decide what to do. His experience with women was minimal-nonexistent when it came to swoons and suchlike. He lowered her to the ground and untied the water skin from Bear's saddle. Perhaps a drink would revive her. He knelt at the burn, filling the water skin.

He heard nothing until the quarrel landed in the water with a plop, barely missing his head. He rolled aside, splas.h.i.+ng through the water and reaching for weapons that weren't there. His first thought was that Carlisle had found them, until he saw Fayth Graham, astride Bear, latch leveled at his heart.

He straightened, water dripping from his hair and chin.

"You raping murderer," she said, her lovely face twisted with hate and disgust. "I should kill you for ruining my life."

The b.i.t.c.h had tricked him again, this time with a false faint. He ground his teeth, furious with himself for becoming giddy-headed over this woman, and came after her. She had already reloaded the latch. At such close range, the quarrel would punch through his jack and mail, perhaps even through his body.

She lowered the latch, aiming the quarrel at his crotch. "Or mayhap I'll put an end to your lechery... Forever."

"Do that and you'll not find me so merciful."

"Merciful!" She spat on the ground, her mouth curved unpleasantly. "I wonder if Jack found you merciful." With one last glare of hatred, she dug her heels into Bear's sides, yanking the reins to turn the horse. Bear bounded forward.

Alex whistled.

Bear turned and came back, despite Fayth's kicking and sawing on the reins, and her promises to personally geld the horse if it didn't obey. She was enraged, her eyes burning, her mouth a thin line.

"You're not a very good horse thief, la.s.sie."

"Let him go!"

He advanced on her, reaching for Bear's bridle. "I'm not finished with you just yet. You can try to ride away, but Bear's well trained. He obeys me over anyone else."

The latch came up again, the steel bolt head a few feet from his nose. "You won't be able to whistle at all if I shoot you in the face."

Alex held up his hands, as if surrendering. "Then do it. You think me a raping murderer. Punish me."

Her finger trembled on the trigger, her mouth a thin white line. Bear had stopped a few feet from him, waiting for his next instructions.

"Let him go or I will shoot your eye out!"

"Which is it? Heart? Mouth? Eye? Or...?" He waved a suggestive hand at his crotch. "Let me prepare for the forthcoming blow." He c.o.c.ked a brow at her angry stare. "It is forthcoming, is it not?"

She tapped Bear's sides and the horse came forward, toward Alex. He tensed, wondering what she would do. He didn't believe she would shoot him. Oh, she was a vicious and clever little thing, but not bloodthirsty, of that he was certain.

She kept the latch trained on him. "You killed my betrothed-and now you try to ravish me. You don't deserve to live."

"Carlisle is alive and well. I've not harmed him."

Her lip curled. "You don't even remember, do you? Not Carlisle. Jack Graham. My betrothed. You murdered him."

Alex went still. In his thirty years he'd killed many men but never murdered one. He'd killed Grahams-and likely she was right about this Jack. But he'd never killed a man who wasn't trying to kill him. But that truth would mean naught to a woman who'd lost her love. Perhaps she was capable of murder. He must tread more carefully.

"No great loss to you, little one. You've a far bigger fish in your net with Carlisle."

"I don't want Carlisle! I wanted Jack!"

They stared at each other for a long time. The wind puffed behind her, sending her hair in a s.h.i.+mmering dance about her shoulders.

"Well? Are you going to shoot me?"

Her face was tight with indecision, her finger flexing on the trigger. Finally she dug her heels into Bear's sides and started to ride away.

Alex whistled again. Bear stopped and turned around.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n you!" She let the quarrel fly.

Alex tried to dodge it, but the bolt punched through his jack and mail, tearing into his shoulder. The impact sent him reeling backward. He yelled, grabbing the shaft and trying to yank it out. Too deep.

She had loaded another quarrel and aimed it at his face. "Whistle again and I'll ruin that pretty face."

This time, when she urged Bear forward, Alex let her go, no longer doubting she would follow through with her promise.

Alex rode back to the forest on a stolen horse, his shoulder throbbing with every jolt. Skelley waited for him at the edge of the clearing, s.h.i.+fting from foot to foot. Alex dismounted as the older man took the horse's reins.

"Where were you?" Skelley asked, handing the horse over to another man. "And where is Bear? I canna believe ye've lost that horse again."

"He'll be back." Alex moved to the fire and began peeling off his blood-soaked jack. He had tried repeatedly to pull out the quarrel, but it was too deep and his armor only hampered his efforts. He'd only been able to break off the shaft; the head was still embedded in his flesh.

Skelley helped him out of the jack, shaking his head and muttering about fools getting their due. Skelley was an English Musgrave, but had wed an Annan Maxwell a lifetime ago and had been closer than blood ever since.

Eliot appeared, one empty sleeve tucked into the belt of his tunic. He stroked his black beard, inspecting Alex's wound critically. "Can't take it off if it becomes putrid." He shook his head as if that were a d.a.m.n shame. He'd be well pleased if Alex also sported one arm. "And no little lady. So what now?"

Alex didn't feel like having this conversation. He'd been fond of Eliot once. They were cousins and had fostered together. Red Rowan, Alex's father, had loved Eliot like a son. Alex wished he understood what had soured his friend. Perhaps it was the loss of his arm-though it had been removed when he was a lad and he hadn't seemed the worse for it for more than a decade. It was later that Eliot changed, became angry and sly.

Alex ignored his baiting question and shed his mail and s.h.i.+rt.

Skelley poked about the swollen skin. "We'll need some hot water and a probe-Laine, fetch the leech."

Laine's head popped up from where he'd been hovering uncertainly behind a cl.u.s.ter of bushes. With a brisk nod the lad darted across the clearing, his silvered hair glinting in the firelight. At the age of fifteen the boy's hair was liberally streaked with gray. As a favor to Laine's sister, Alex had rescued the lad from a monastery where he'd been a most reluctant novice. Afterward, the boy had refused to return home. Not that his father wanted him. Laine was b.a.s.t.a.r.d born and had shamed his father by leaving the abbey. Ashton Carlisle cared nothing about the atrocities the boy had endured at the hands of a depraved priest.

Laine vanished from Alex's view, disappearing behind the flames. Alex stared into them, unseeing.

"Well?" Eliot asked. "I thought the plan was to kidnap the la.s.s. What happened? Did you kill her?"

"No."

Skelley inspected Alex's bloodied s.h.i.+rt, tongue probing at his missing teeth. "Go away, Eliot."

"Did ye rape her?" Eliot persisted, waggling his eyebrows.

"No."