His Captive (9 page)
Authors: Diana J. Cosby
Her mouth parted with innocent invitation. “Alexander?”
The huskiness of her voice undermined his good intention. He cursed his weakness for her as he covered her mouth with his own. Nichola melted beneath him, returning his kiss. Aching at her sweetness, he lowered his hand along the silky curve of her neck then beneath her gown to cup her breast. He caught the sensitive nub between his fingers.
At Alexander’s intimate caress, Nichola arched against him, lost to the pleasure spreading throughout her body, giving into the heat his touch instilled. For a foolish moment she allowed herself to drown in sinful pleasure, to bask in his caresses as his fingers wandered mercilessly over her in a sensual destruction.
The pads of his fingers wandered lower to the flat of her stomach. Heat trailed upon her skin in his wake. Her body tightened in anticipation, and heat pooled at her core. A heat she’d never experienced before.
On a groan, his hand slid to the edge of her woman’s curls.
She pulled back, horrified by what she’d allowed.
“This is wrong.” But even as she cast out the words, she ached with wanting him.
“It is right,” he whispered in return, his mouth trailing kisses in a slow sweep along the column of her neck.
His husky burr weakened her resistance. Her body swayed forward, craving his touch. Shame whipped through her. How could she feel this way about him?
She tried to pull free.
He caught her shoulders. “Nichola, listen to me. I—”
“Let me go!” she ordered, desperate to save the last shred of her dignity. “I want nothing to do with you.”
Irritation slashed through his eyes. He lowered his gaze to where her body lay flush, to where her legs had twined with his, and even now her woman’s place pressed intimately against him.
“It would seem,” he said in soft challenge, “your body says otherwise.”
Embarrassed, Nichola shoved to her feet. She hugged his tunic against her; the material draped haphazardly to her knees. “I want nothing from you.”
Alexander rose to his feet. “What are you afraid of, lass, me or yourself?”
She took a step back ashamed she’d allowed him to touch her so wantonly, that even now, her body burned where his fingers had skimmed over her flesh.
With a lightning quick move, he caught her hand and hauled her against him.
“Do not!”
“What?” His mouth glided over hers, urging her response. “Tell you how you shivered beneath my caress? How you arched against me when I took your nipple into my hand? Or that even now, you are wet with wanting?”
Her breaths were coming fast. She wanted to deny his charges, but when she should be repulsed from her enemy, her body screamed with the need of his touch.
Afraid that if she said nothing—given her intense feelings for him—they’d be making love in a trice, she attacked. “I am not your whore to take any liberties without permission, but an English noblewoman.”
He lifted his head, fury darkening his gaze to black.
“I am your prisoner,” she pressed. “Not only have you kidnapped me from my home, but after our night together in the inn, however innocent, my reputation is in shatters. No man of honor would want me now.” And any chance to marry for money and salvage their home was lost. “I wish to God that I had killed you after all.”
As soon as she’d spewed the words, she regretted them, longed to admit they were a lie. If anything, he’d taken pains to ensure her comfort. But from the anger gouging his face, it might be too late to apologize. But, she had to try.
“Alexander, I—”
“You are correct, you are my prisoner.” He released her, the coldness of his stare chilling her. “I have never harmed a woman in my life and I will not begin now. Neither will I take what is not freely offered.”
Nichola opened her mouth to speak, to explain, then stopped. His interest in her was the ransom she would bring.
In the end, she would return to England, and he would remain in Scotland. In all honesty, her wanton reactions to his advances had prompted his boldness. What man would deny a willing woman?
At her stoic expression, Alexander folded his arms across his chest. His prisoner. Aye, she was that. But when he’d held her throughout the night, his thoughts had strayed traitorously far from thinking of her as such.
He turned and stalked toward the branch where he’d hung her gown. Making love with her would have been a grave error. He snatched the ragged dress and brought it back to her.
“Put it on.” It wasn’t a request.
Her gaze never wavered from his as she took it. Nichola inched back with the ruined gown cradled in her arms as if a shield.
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Be quick about it.” At his surly order, she scurried behind the large boulder. Fine, ’twould do her well to fear him.
While she was changing, Alexander repacked his mount. He stripped his mind of thoughts of her passionate kisses of moments ago. Or how if she hadn’t stopped him, they would be making love. What had he thought, that she’d find interest in a knight? He gave an indignant snort. She was a rich, English heiress. And he, the middle son of a noble, without an inheritance, and a graveside vow to his father.
He secured the last cinch on the saddle with a hard tug, stowed the tunic and secured the blankets. It was time to leave. The sooner they departed, the quicker they could send for the ransom and he could rid himself of her.
Alexander led his bay over to the burn and let him drink. After, he rounded the corner to find Nichola standing by the rock wearing the tattered dress. Her regal bearing at odds with the seductive cut of the gown; the coldness of her gaze in direct conflict with the heat he knew pulsed beneath.
The punch of desire hit without warning. Alexander clenched his teeth as he waved her over. He would keep his distance, emotionally and physically.
But as she started toward him with her siren’s body and a sovereign’s bearing, he wondered if he’d just committed his own self to a personal hell.
Chapter Seven
The next two days of travel were grueling to Nichola’s tired body and troubled mind. As they rode, she at last gave into exhaustion and sagged back against Alexander’s broad chest. He didn’t move or acknowledge her presence. Over the last two days of hard travel, she’d grown used to his aloofness. Except for his questions about her thirst, hunger, or comfort, he’d ignored her.
As if she didn’t matter.
Or exist.
After wishing him dead, what had she expected, his forgiveness? No, but that he could dismiss her so thoroughly after he’d touched her so intimately still hurt.
A gust of wind swept past. The tall heather-strewn grass bowed beneath its force. The bay picked his way up a steep incline, the angle forcing her body against Alexander’s well-muscled frame.
Warmth spread through her. Too easily she imagined his fingers moving over her skin in a soft caress; the heat his touch inspired. Warmth pooled deep inside her. Embarrassed at how he could affect her when she needed to keep him from her thoughts, Nichola leaned forward, away from Alexander.
He guided his steed around a patch of brambles. “What is wrong?” he asked, his voice cool.
“Naught.”
“Then sit still. We will arrive at Lochshire Castle before midday.”
Nichola scanned the horizon. The sun’s angle was nearing its apex. Naught but trees, fields, and jutting rock lay before them. But soon they would arrive at his home where she would be imprisoned until they received her ransom. Payment that would never come. And then what? Uneasy, she shifted.
“Do not think about trying to escape,” Alexander warned.
“I am sitting here quiet, as you requested.”
He gave a snort of disbelief. “The day you heed my orders, as you should have from the start, I will know you have been stricken with a serious malady. The truth,” he ordered, “and I will know if you are telling a tale.”
Nichola hesitated. She should remain quiet, but she had to know. “At your home . . .” The steady clip of hooves clattered over patches of broken stone.
“On with it.”
She turned and glared at him. “It is difficult for me.”
He arched an unsympathetic brow.
“The rebels within your home. They will . . . treat me well?”
“Well?”
Oh, he knew what she meant. She’d seen the flicker of understanding. “They will not hurt me?”
With a shrug he scanned their surroundings. “You will be safe as long as you do not give them reason to treat you otherwise.”
“And what would be a reason?”
His cobalt eyes locked on her. “Trying to run away.”
“As if given the same circumstance, you would not try the same?”
“Lass, if given the same circumstance, I would have escaped.”
Heat raced up her cheeks. She angled her chin in a stubborn tilt. “I will not apologize for trying to regain my freedom.”
“I told you before, you will not be harmed. Once the ransom is received, arrangements will be made to deliver you safely back to your home.” His mouth settled into a hard line as he studied her. “Unless you have a reason why I should believe otherwise?”
How could she have hinted at her lack of funds? “It is but nerves that lead me to ask.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt, which assured her that she had far from convinced him. Alexander guided his horse along a narrow path that cut through a stand of pines. The dense cover chilled the air. The soft echoes of his mount’s hooves moving through the forest carried on the wind.
The trail grew steeper, winding up as if it would take them to the edge of the earth. The scent of wild herbs growing around her filled the air. Any other time, she would have savored the raw beauty of this setting.
As if she’d ridden through a magical door, the thick blanket of foliage gave way.
She gasped in wonder. Spread out as far as she could see extended a large lake embraced by dark, fertile land and weathered hills. On the end of a peninsula jutting from the southern curve, arose a well-fortified castle. A drawbridge, now lowered, connected the only road leading out.
She barely made out tiny spots that moved along the wall walk. A shiver crept through her. Castle guards. Men who would ensure her any attempt to flee would fail.
Alexander halted his bay. He gestured toward the fortress below. “My home, Lochshire Castle.”
And from its impenetrable defense, impossible to escape. Her spirits plummeted. “It is magnificent,” she said with grudging admiration. And it rivaled the splendor of her home. Except for the touch of savageness, which she attributed to the men who carved the stronghold from this unforgiving land.
“It was built by the Normans and passed down through my family ever since.”
“It is yours?”
Shadows flickered in his eyes. As quickly, they were gone. “No. Lochshire Castle belongs to my oldest brother.”
“How many brothers do you have?” she asked, needing to know what she was up against.
“Three.”
“Sisters?”
“None.”
“Oh.”
“Even if I had sisters, they would not help you. Neither will my brothers.”
“I never thought they would.”
He arched a skeptical brow. “That is exactly what you believed.”
“I have other things on my mind besides escape,” she said, annoyed he could read her with such accuracy. “And with the pittance I know of the womanly arts, I doubt I could seduce one of your brothers, much less convince them to aid in my escape.”
That much was the truth, but it was her innocence that added to her irresistible appeal; a fact his brothers would surely notice. Alexander’s hand tightened on the reins. His brothers would keep their distance. Once he locked her away in a chamber, he’d warn them of her conniving ways. Although she was a virgin, she could be very persuasive.
A fact he’d learned well.
He nudged his mount toward where the path cut down the hillside, offering a clear, breathtaking view of his homeland. Pride filled him as he looked upon Lochshire Castle. His home had withheld many a siege over the years and would withstand whatever the English could serve.
“What are their names?”
“Who?” Alexander replied, deliberately being evasive.
“Your brothers.”
Though she denied it, her intent was too clear. Whatever she might believe, once locked inside his home, she wouldn’t escape. But he couldn’t see any harm in telling her about his family.
“I am the middle brother. Seathan, the eldest, is the Earl of Grey and lord of Lochshire Castle.” He noted the standard was flying atop the tower; his brother was home. “My youngest brother is Duncan. You will like him, most women do.”
She arched a brow. “You are jealous of him?”
He thought of Duncan’s glib charm and face of a Greek god, which had women swarming to him like bees to honey. “No. It is his nature.”
“I thought you said you had three brothers?”
He nodded. “Aye, Patrik is my brother as well, but by adoption. Except for blood, he is kin in every way.”
“I am surprised your family would adopt rather than sponsor him.”
“Patrik’s father saved my mother’s life in a raid,” Alexander explained, remembering the details passed down by his father of the brutal attack by the English. “After Patrik’s parents were killed, there was no question about where he belonged. He became part of our family.”
Empathy creased her face; her sensitivity toward a man she didn’t know surprised Alexander. “How old was he at the time?”
“Seven years,” he replied. And Patrik had come to them with savage resentment toward the English; for their vicious assault had served not only to destroy his family’s home, but had also vanquished the lives of those he loved as well. Now a man grown, Patrik had learned to temper his hate. But at times when the English were spoken of, Patrik’s bitterness resurfaced.
Who could blame him? Watching your parents being murdered would taint the stoutest of men. But a lad—a lad it would devastate.
“Will your brothers all be home?” she asked, fear lingering in her voice.
“No more questions.”
She stiffened against him.
If the castle’s staunch defenses didn’t quell her thoughts of escape, meeting his brothers would. Each of the brothers alone was considered a formidable match, but the four combined were a lethal force. God forbid any fool who dared to insult one of them. Each brother took the slander personally, and together they sought retribution.
He guided his mount to a slow but steady pace toward the shore. Every time their bodies touched, Nichola recoiled from him. Alexander muttered a curse.
She shifted forward, irritating him further. “You lean away from me any more, lass, and you will fall off.”
“As if you would care.”
Her sputtering indignation almost pulled a smile to his lips. Almost. “I would not want you harmed,” he said, his voice gruff, irritated she could affect him so.
“That is all I am to you, not a person or a woman, but goods to be bartered.”
The image of her naked and in his arms came to mind, his body hardened. “What would you like me to think of you as?”
She hesitated.
Impulse urged him to turn her face toward him so he could see the truth in her eyes. He left her alone. ’Twould be unwise to journey down this path. Already he wanted her too much.
“I want nothing but to be free,” she finally replied, but he heard the unspoken desire, a longing he unfortunately understood.
Silence fell between them. Near the bottom of the steep trail, the dense stand of trees opened to a slope of rolling green. An area his ancestors had purposely cleared to allow guards a clear view of any adversary. And give ample time to raise the drawbridge and prepare their defense.
As the fortress rose before them like an ominous sentinel, Nichola tried to squash her apprehension, but doubts grew. Saint’s breath, what was she going to do?
“Sir Alexander returns,” a guard’s voice boomed as they approached the drawbridge.
A tower guard hailed them as they rode toward the portcullis.
The clunk of hooves on timber gave way to a soft clatter as his horse walked across the stone beneath the gatehouse. Shadows faded as they rode into the bailey.
As with her own home, people were busy going about their daily chores. The smith was stoking a fire, the coals glowing hot. Grooms swept out the stables. Knights trained in the practice field. A girl carried a heaping basket of rushes walked toward the keep.
Except this was far from the peaceable environment she called home.
Or would ever feel welcome in.
The door to the keep opened. The girl carrying the basket of rushes slipped inside, and an elderly man with a bearded face hobbled out.
Nichola scanned the interior for men who bore a resemblance to Alexander. Her mind conjured giants of men, their faces carved in perpetual scowls, their eyes filling with hatred when they landed upon her.
“Edmund,” Alexander called.
The old man who’d exited the keep turned. A smile splashed across his face warm and bright. He hobbled toward them.
She tensed. This couldn’t be his brother. An uncle perhaps?
Alexander guided his mount to meet him halfway. Two strides away from the man, he pulled his bay to a halt, swung to the ground and embraced the elder.
The old man slapped him on the back with a hearty thump. “Alexander, me lad. We expected you a few days ago.”
“You missed me?” Alexander teased.
“Like a festered thorn in my foot,” the old man replied with a wink.
Alexander laughed, his easy warmth with the elder a sharp contrast to his coldness toward her over the past few days. But then, she was his captive.
“Did you have trouble with the English then?” the man asked as he stepped back.
A scowl touched Alexander’s gaze as he glanced toward her. “Naught I could not quell.”
“There’s me boy. The bloody English.” He spit on the ground. “The lot of them have not the backbone of a fen-sucked lackey.” The old man glanced toward her with interest. “Another lass is it? I thought you left to abduct Lord Monceaux?”
“A long story,” Alexander replied. “I will explain later—in private.”
From his friend’s comments, it seemed Alexander’s bringing home a woman was a common event. With his ability to devastate a woman with a simple look, she shouldn’t be surprised, or care, but the fact hurt.
“Where are my brothers?” he asked as he wound the reins in his hand.
“They are—”
“Alexander,” came a deep, rough shout from the entry of the practice field, where the scrape of blades still echoed with a fierce clash.
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