A Knight's Temptation (11 page)

He thought again of his captive and the way she’d challenged him when he’d told her she was a courtesan. Her eyes lit with golden fire, her expression gut-wrenchingly beautiful, she’d roused in him a wave of desire and fury he could scarcely contain.
I am, indeed, of noble blood
, she’d said in that throaty way of hers.
If you believe you will go unpunished for kidnapping, mistreating, and binding me, you are mad. I will have your wretched arse
.

Astonishing, that he could remember what she’d said, for all he could think of while she’d railed at him was hurling aside the rope, clamping his hands on her bottom, and yanking her flush against him for a plundering kiss.

Somehow, he’d managed to rein in that rash impulse. Confronting her point by point—her freckles, work-worn hands, and the like—had been his only way to focus on something other than his need to kiss her.

And, also, from admitting her replies made perfect sense.

If Lady L
was
a woman of esteemed birth, he’d treated her badly. Many would consider his actions foolish and reckless—just like his firing a crossbow bolt into de Lanceau’s chest—and deserving of punishment.

Rom raised his head, his coat rippling under Aldwin’s palm. As Aldwin took hold of the horse’s dangling reins, he wondered if he’d had any other recourse but to seize Lady L and whisk her off into the night? Nay. His actions had kept de Lanceau’s pendant safe, and if she had any information on Veronique and the baron’s whereabouts, Aldwin’s duty required that he deliver her to de Lanceau for questioning.

“Whoever she is, though,” Aldwin murmured, “we will find out.”

Rom’s hooves scraped on the riverbank as Aldwin turned toward the forest. After tethering Rom in a sheltered spot, he’d start the fire and offer her the bread and cheese in his saddlebag. A rather plain meal, but ’twould do.

When they neared the dark ruins, Aldwin called out, “Lady L.” Best to alert her to his approach. She’d been uneasy traveling through the woods, and he didn’t want her to mistake him for an undead Roman.

No reply.

Grinning, he shook his head. She didn’t answer because she was furious he’d left her tied. He imagined her standing against the wall, fuming, her chin at that fetching angle that warned him she was in a temper.

“I did not wish to startle you,” he said as the area where he’d left her came into view. “I—” His voice faded to a groan.

After tethering Rom to another part of the wall, he ran to where the rope dangled to the ground. It was still tied to the bonds that had encircled her wrists.

Squatting, he examined the cut rope. Worn through. She’d rubbed it against a stone.

Or someone had cut her loose.

Aldwin shoved to standing, concern and rage boiling inside him. He shouldn’t have left her alone.

She could be in mortal danger.

***

Leona darted into the forest. Beneath the trees, little moonlight reached the ground—excellent for hiding, but not for making a quick escape. Still, she’d rather break both her legs than be tied to the wall and at Aldwin’s mercy.

Wind whistled through the leaves and branches overhead. Moonlight spliced through the shadows to reveal mounds of earth with parts of stone walls thrusting through—evidence of more ancient ruins buried over the centuries by flooding. Some of the trees had fallen, creating a tangle of branches that blocked her path.

The perfect place for a bees’ nest.

Fear clouded her mind. Being summer, there could be hundreds of nests in the forest. If she stumbled upon one in the dark . . .

She wouldn’t. Oh, God, she
wouldn’t!

A sickly sweat broke across Leona’s skin, but she picked her way around the trees and pressed on. Flattening against a broad trunk, she snatched a breath and listened for any signs of pursuit. Was she headed toward the road? She hoped so. While she couldn’t see the glimmer of the river any longer, that didn’t mean she was traveling in the right direction.

A rustling noise came from a nearby patch of ferns. She froze, pressing back against a tree, while she strained to hear more. Had Aldwin come looking for her already? Had she been so preoccupied with her escape that she hadn’t heard him stalking her?

She held her breath. The night itself seemed a living entity. Close by, she sensed creatures she couldn’t see.

Animals. Aye.
Not
Roman ghosts.

Afraid of the night? God’s teeth, Leona! Your will is as soft as pastry dough—just like all the other pale-skinned ladies who don’t have freckles. No warrior worth spit is afraid of a little darkness
.

Mentally squashing her unease, she looked down at the ground for some kind of weapon to defend herself. Broken stones. Sticks. Enough to fight with, if need be.

She lowered to a crouch. The rustling grew louder, followed by a scampering sound. A fawn bounded through a slant of light, toward a doe standing watch in the shadows. Leona blew out a sigh. Not Aldwin or . . . a ghostly Roman.

As she continued on, more ruins emerged from the shadows, and then she saw the deer track winding through the woods. The one they’d traveled earlier? Her body warmed with a surge of hope.

She hurried forward. Branches, hidden by layers of rotting leaves, crackled beneath her boots. She paused, her heartbeat pounding. Had Aldwin heard the noise?

Please, nay!

She waited long moments, afraid to even reach up to wipe the sweat from her face. If he’d heard, he wasn’t racing toward her. Daring to continue on, she walked onto the trail.

Aldwin stood leaning against a tree, holding his crossbow. The weapon pointed toward the ground, but was nevertheless cocked.

Their gazes locked in the darkness.

The skin across her breasts tingled. The pendant’s weight brushing her cleavage seemed even more noticeable, somehow, as if she’d suddenly become aware of every place it touched.

An awful sense of entrapment squeezed in upon her. Was this how a deer felt when it faced the hunter about to bring it to its knees?

Aldwin made no move, yet she sensed him preparing his trap to close in on her.

“How did you get free?” His voice sounded deceptively soft. Almost admiring.

“I rubbed the rope against a stone.”

He nodded and his eyes narrowed a fraction. Somehow, she knew he was relieved by her answer. Had he thought someone else had cut her loose?

As though following her thoughts, he said, “These are hazardous woods, Lady L. I did not mention before, but there are poachers’ traps—”

“And knaves who kidnap ladies,” she cut in. “Those are the most dangerous of all.”

He smiled. “Come back with me now.”

“Nay.”

“
Nay?
” His voice reminded her of the growl of thunder. “We both know I am in command here.”

Aldwin had spoken to her in the same manner years ago, while Ward was tying her to the tree. What
he’d
wanted was all that had mattered. And look what had happened then.

Familiar rage and anguish whipped through Leona. She hated for Aldwin to see her trembling—to see her weak—but she couldn’t control the tremors. The thought of being tied, helpless, with him deciding what happened to her, made her want to scream. “I am not going back with you.”

He eased away from the tree. “Lady L, start walking toward the river.” He pointed. “That way.”

Leona shook her head.

His fingers flexed on the crossbow. “Let us be sensible and make this easy on both of us.”

“Easiest,” she said, “for you.”

“Agreed. Yet we both know you cannot escape me.”

She took a step back. A deliberate taunt. “You will not shoot me.”

“We discussed this earlier.” His smile hardened. “I warn you. Do not tempt me.”

“If you shoot me—injure me—you will have to care for my wound. The inconvenience will delay your return to Branton Keep. If the injury becomes corrupt, I might die. You will not risk it.”

She took another backward step, her boots crushing dry leaves.

Aldwin matched her retreat with a forward step. “I have cared for wounds before. The inconvenience will not stop me.”

Would he really shoot her? The uncompromising set of his jaw warned he would, indeed, fire the weapon.

“Do not tempt me, Lady L,” he said again, very quietly. “I have given you ample warning.”

He had. However, she must escape, and not only because she wanted her freedom. Aldwin had spoken before of responsibilities; the good folk of Pryerston Keep needed her help, now more than ever. Her sire couldn’t rid the castle of Veronique and the baron on his own.

Leona took another step away from Aldwin and shivered inside as his mouth tightened. She’d almost reached the trees. He might be an expert shot, but if she dodged and wove, as in the game she and Ward had played in the woods, she might outwit Aldwin. At some point, he’d run out of bolts.

Aldwin edged nearer. He moved as though his body were tightly coiled, waiting for the precise moment to lunge.

Just as he raised the crossbow, his right boot sank into the earth.

“What—” he muttered.

Leona spun, her cloak whirling at her ankles, and dashed into the trees.

Aldwin roared an oath.

Her breath scorching her lungs, she darted from side to side, behind bushes, trees, and low branches. The forest became a muddied blur of light and murky shadows.

Run, Leona!

Footfalls crashed behind her. Too close behind.

The toe of her boot slammed into a buried branch, causing her to pitch forward. She gasped, regained her balance, and rushed on.

The footsteps behind her quieted.

Panic rushed through her. Pausing the barest moment, she glanced back, raising her hand to sweep hair out of her eyes.

The forest behind her was empty.

Silent.

Wrong!

Oh, God! Run!

As Leona spurred herself forward, she heard a faint
click
: the sound of a firing crossbow.

Before she could gasp, the steel-tipped bolt slammed into her.

Chapter Seven

Aldwin lowered the crossbow, loaded another bolt, and shrugged aside the tension knotting his shoulder muscles. His arms ached with the need to slam his fist into the nearest tree.

He’d warned Lady L.

Her foolish protest was finished.

Leaves smashed under his boots as he strode toward her. She stood in a stream of moonlight, tugging at the bolt buried in the oak behind her. The steel tip had pierced the lower part of her wide cloak sleeve and pinned it the tree, holding her fast.

Her breaths came in desperate gasps. Eyes luminous, she glanced at him, streaks of her hair cutting across her cheek, before she looked back at the bolt and gave it another tug.

Cloth tore.

“Please,” she moaned.

In that one word, Aldwin heard a plea, a curse, and a wealth of frustration. He steeled himself against the instinctive bloom of sympathy, drawing instead upon the rage and desire humming like a dark song in his blood. He’d tried to be gallant. He’d warned her, offered her the chance to return to the ruins of her own free will, and she’d refused to cooperate.

Now she’d accept the consequences.

Lady L muttered under her breath, words he couldn’t distinguish. No matter. What he’d hear, from her lips, was acknowledgment that he’d won this confrontation. She’d admit she couldn’t escape him.

Five more strides and he stood close enough to catch her scent, piquant in the damp earthiness of the night forest. He breathed her in, her fragrance filling his mind until all he sensed was her. Desire tugged at his loins, coaxing him to claim that gap between them.

She must have sensed his unruly emotions, for her hand, clasped around the bolt, fell away. Caution shadowed her features as she faced him, her trapped arm spread wide, her other arm at her side.

“The chase is done, Lady L.”

Defiance hardened her gaze.

“When I remove the bolt, you will come with me. No running. No fighting.”

Her chin nudged up. Moonlight glistened on her full, pursed mouth. She clearly wasn’t going to agree he’d bested her.

His control snapped, like a weighty branch breaking and plummeting to the ground.
Beware your recklessness, Aldwin. Remember how your impulsiveness caused you to almost murder de Lanceau
.

More powerful than his conscience, however, was the need to conquer her willfulness.

Now
.

He stepped nearer, raising the crossbow. Closer again, and the bolt’s tip nudged the front of her cloak. Resting, he realized with a flare of lust, above the roundness of her right breast.

Her breath hitched. Her lips moved with a swallow.

“Tell me you concede.” He hardly recognized that ragged voice as his own.

“If”—she swallowed again—“I do not?”

God’s blood! It seemed she was even more impetuous than he. Forcing a wicked smile, he said, “Then you leave me no choice.”

“W-what choice?” she whispered, her gaze astonishingly steady, despite the weapon against her breast.

Anger hammered against his temple. How good ’twould feel to give voice to his fury, to yell into the night and hear it echo around them. She’d take that display of emotion, though, as another victory in her fight with him.

To subdue her will, he must be controlled. Relentless.

Persuasive.

A groan welled inside him while he slid the crossbow, achingly slowly, across her cloak. Apprehension flickered in her eyes, but she made no sound as the bolt whispered between her breasts. Over the raised swell of the pendant. Down the plane of her belly. At last, he ended the contact, withdrawing the crossbow to hold it pointing down against his side.

She exhaled a tense sigh.

Before the sound faded, he moved, forcing their bodies into intimate proximity. She struggled, but, raising his hand, he pressed it against the pale slope of her neck. His thumb and forefinger fitted against her throat.

So very soft, her skin. Smooth, like a lady’s. Unblemished, apart from her freckles. A silent, appreciative growl rumbled inside him.