Ravished (9 page)

          Breathing deeply,
using her arms for added leverage, she managed to propel herself to her feet. 
She caught a bedpost and steadied herself with a weak arm.  Gray and Bronson
would pay for their ‘training,’ she vowed.  Somehow, someday.

          Determined, she
left her room and was surprised to see the servant awaiting her, and realized
she had no idea where Bronson lay his dreadful head at night.

          “I am to see you to
his chambers, my lord.”  The pale man bowed and began leading the way.

          Alex’s stomach
began knotting as she neared, wondering if she was wise to do this in her
weakened state.  Her body’s strength and ease of movement improved with each
step, and she tossed her worries aside, eager for vengeance.

          The servant left
her standing before Lord Bronson’s door, hurriedly walking away.

          Steadying herself,
she knocked three times.

          “Enter.”  His deep
voice was muffled through the thick oak door.

          Boldly, she walked
inside, the door’s weight causing it to slam behind her unheeded.  Her jaw
dropped at the sight she beheld, her eyes large as golden tureens.

          She backed up until
she was trapped against the door, holding it barred with her body, unable to
turn around and leave, her feet heavy as though embedded in stone.

          He was naked.

          But even his
nakedness did not shock her as much as what he said once she’d entered the room
fully. 

          “Take off your
clothes.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

          “Argyle, are you
certain she’s kin?” Hugh McPherson asked, pushing his empty plate aside as a
serving girl came to take it.

          “Aye, brother.  She
had the bonny look of Heather, I swear it.  ‘Twas difficult to see, but I
warrant she’s her daughter.”

          Kiara slammed her
fist on the table and stood, garnering everyone’s attention.  Eight pairs of
eyes settled their gazes upon her.  “Those damned Blackmores are holding her
hostage.  Are we going to do something about it?”  She pressed her palms flat
on the table, looking at each in turn with as stern a look as she could muster.

          The room erupted
into discussion as everyone started talking at once.  Hugh, the eldest and
patriarch of the family, silenced them by raising his hand.  He stroked the
braids of his beard in contemplation--a stalling habit that annoyed much of the
clan.  “We’ll need to see if the lass is endangered as you fear first, Kiara. 
I’ll send one of the lads to check.”

          Kiara laughed. 
Used to her odd ways, no one took objection to her outburst.  “He’ll never get
past those brutes and you know it.”

          Hugh’s eyes
twinkled.  “What do you propose, gel?”

          Kiara grinned. 
“That we go inside.  I can slip past their guards easily.  The Blackmores are
so full of themselves, they’d never suspect a wee lass like meself sneakin’
in.”

          The table erupted
in laughter.

          Uncle Argyle
finally caught his breath, stolen by laughter.  “God above help them should
they catch you, gel,” he shouted, grinning and waggling his eyebrows.

          Kiara returned his
smile.  They’d tried before and not succeeded. “‘Twill take better than they to
lay hands on me.”

          “‘Tis a good plan,
daughter.  You take Wren and let us know what you see.  If you can get the lass
out without trouble, bring her along.”

          Kiara frowned,
looking at her older brother.  He waggled his fingers at her, grinning, looking
entirely too smug for his own good.  “I can do it meself,” she said.

          “You’ll take
Wren.”  His tone brooked no argument.  “I like not you being at that brood’s
mercy without some protection.”

          “And you think Wren
would protect me?”

          His bushy brows
drew down as he frowned at her.

          She sighed, wise
enough to know when she’d lost.  “Very well.  But ‘tis my plan ... and he must
follow it to the letter!”  She brightened, thinking of what they’d do to get
inside.  It might not be so bad taking him along after all....

* * * *

          The lock clicked
behind her.  Alex turned frantically and tried to open the door, to no avail. 
Realizing her frenzied efforts were useless, she dropped her arms and turned to
face Bronson, a morbid tension entering her bones.  She cleared her throat and
asked, “Pardon me?”  ‘Twas a noble effort, indeed, to be so calm in the face of
his ... his....

          He was in the midst
of rubbing a soapy cloth on his chest.  On his very wide, very hard, very
muscular chest.  Alex stared, mesmerized as bubbles formed and broke on his
bronze skin with each pass of the cloth.  The wet sheen glistened gold in the
candlelight.  She half wondered if he felt as molten and smooth as her eyes led
her to believe.  A queer curiosity kindled inside her.

          Bronson didn’t look
up from his task, continued running the cloth over his flesh, dipping down his
belly, forcing her eyes to follow the line of his movement.  She’d leaned
forward without realizing it, straightened up when his voice broke through the
fog clouding her wits.  Saints!  She acted like some simpleton.

          “I need some help
washing my back.  If you keep your doublet and shirt on, you shall get
soaked.”  He looked up, arching a brow.  “Come, boy, you’ve seen manflesh
before.”

          Alex blanched.  Never
in her life had she seen manflesh like this.  Somehow, seeing him before in
only hose couldn’t compare with this.  She knew he was completely bare, and the
knowledge struck her with intense awareness of how little stood between them. 
“This hardly seems proper, my lord--”

          “Bronson.  There’s
naught improper about it.  Mayhap if you were a lady, but we both know that not
to be true.”

          Did his eyes
gleam?  The corners of his mouth hitch infinitesimally higher?  No.  It wasn’t
possible.  Alex swallowed, her throat dry as scrub brush in the summer.  “Why
have you locked me in here?” she squeaked, refusing to let go of the door
handle.  She thought perhaps if she let go, she would melt onto the floor.

          He smirked.  “Just
a precaution.  I don’t want someone to walk in and gather the wrong
impression.  Someone will be in later to bring bath linens.  If you hurry, you
can leave then.”

          She narrowed her
eyes, scrutinizing him, but he gave her as innocent and blank a look as she’d
ever seen.  If he’d discovered her secret, she had no doubt he’d have thrown
her out on her arse ... or whipped her ... possibly gaoled ... any number of
unpleasantness came to mind.  No, it appeared he’d decided to take her under
his wing as some sort of companion or friend.  Men were odd creatures, to be
sure.

          Frowning, Alex
shrugged out of her doublet and laid it atop his mattress.  The shirt still
afforded some protection, thick as the linen was.  She rolled her wide,
embroidered cuffs up just above her elbows.  If she was to do this, she wanted
to be done with it as soon as possible and out of the realm of temptation. 
Just thinking about the fact he was naked in her presence caused her skin to
itch and sweat and her face and bottom to heat as though she sat upon a flame. 
He was like some dread affliction, and she couldn’t think straight looking on
him.  He’d addled her brains with a fever of the flesh.

          “You’ll get wet.” 
He wagged a finger at her, grinning.

          “I shall survive,”
she said morosely, dragging around behind him.  Never in her life had she seen
a man so willing to bathe ... and often, apparently.  Trust God’s luck to
thrust her in this treacherous nest of cleanly brutes.

          Alex settled on her
knees behind him on a folded length of linen toweling to protect her knees from
the hard floor.  He handed her the cloth over his shoulder and leaned forward,
presenting his back.  His shoulders flexed as he circled his arms around his
knees.  Alex swallowed, rubbing the soap on the cloth in a daze.  Up close, he
appeared more monstrous than before.

          Tentatively, she
touched the cloth to his shoulder.  His skin twitched with the contact, muscles
tense as she smoothed it across the taut line of his shoulders.  He relaxed as
she scrubbed him, and she found she enjoyed touching him, running her fingers
over his hard muscles.  The blades of his shoulders indented sharply, and her
fingers crept into the hollows as she rubbed, feeling how strong his back, how
hard.  It was a warrior’s back, with a warrior’s strength and old wounds.  A
thin, white scar skated his right flank.  Another patch of pale skin roughed
his shoulder, as though he’d struck something with it long ago.  There were
other tiny nicks spread over him--testament to an active life.

          Alex tried to imagine
how he could have accumulated the scars during his life as she continued
washing him ... washing him.  She felt an odd warmth, a lethargy, spread
through her limbs at the domesticity of the action.  A wife would do this for
her husband--tend his wounds, ease his tension.  Though she could tell he was a
wary sort of man.  Even in stillness he seemed to move.  She was utterly
fascinated.

          “There is more to
my back than the one spot, boy.”  There was laughter in his rough voice.  His
shoulders trembled as though he shook with silent mirth.

          She blinked
rapidly, looking at the red swath of skin along his left side.  Getting a hold
of herself, she scrubbed his skin mercilessly, eager to be done with the task. 
What madness had seized her?  He tensed but said not a word as she stripped the
hide from his bones.

          “Lower,” he said,
leaning forward more.

          Alex obliged,
moving down his back without thinking, then froze.  A sweat broke out on her
upper lip.  She could see the curve of his buttocks through the water.  Dare
she?  Being in this guise freed her.  She’d never dare this as a maiden, but as
a man, it mattered not.  More curious than she should be, she slipped beneath
the water’s edge and stroked his buttocks.

          They were as tight
and round as she’d thought.  A well of heat flooded her thighs as she rubbed
him.  She found herself smiling in pleasure.

          “That is enough of
that, scamp,” Bronson said, shifting in the water, his gruff, husky voice
jerking her back to reality.  He leaned back, forcing her arms to slip around
him so that she could bathe his chest and arms.

          Alex’s heart
fluttered as his damp shoulders touched her breasts.  His heat seemed to seep
through the linen straight to her flesh.  She prayed to the lord that he could
not feel their shape beneath the binding.

          “Why is it you
travel alone, Alex?” he asked as she slid her soapy hands over his chest.  His
small, flat nipples hardened beneath her palms as they skimmed over him.

          Alex’s mouth went
dry at the sensation of his response.  She knew it was not sexual, and yet, she
could not help but to fantasize what he would do if she was a woman bathing
him.  She slipped across them again, smiling to herself.

          He cleared his
throat, shifting in her arms.  “Alex?” he prodded.

          She blinked the fog
of desire from her mind, realizing he’d asked her something and she couldn’t
remember what.  “Hmmm?”

          He turned his head
to look at her from the corner of his eye.  “Are you avoiding the question on
purpose?  Wherefore do you travel?”

          It was just the
sort of questioning she’d hoped to avoid until she managed to free herself. 
Alex chewed her lip, grasping his head and forcing him to face away from her as
she washed his hair.  She searched her mind for a lie capable of convincing him
she told the truth.  Finally, she settled on a half truth.  “I thought to have
a tour of the realm before I am married.”

          He stiffened, tried
to turn his head to look on her, but she held him fast.  “You are betrothed?”
he asked tersely.  “Surely not at your age.  You cannot be much more than a
child.”

          He almost sounded
as though the knowledge bothered him.  She wished she’d have thought of another
tale to tell him.  “I have reached my majority.”

          He grunted, letting
her know he did not believe her.  He was silent as she finished his hair, but
when she moved to pull away to leave, he stopped her.  “You did not finish my
chest.”

          “I thought mayhap
your own cleansing was enow.”

          “Nay, there is more
dirt to be washed away.”

          Alex swallowed as
he leaned back once more.  She felt entirely too warm at his nearness, to eager
to feel the sculpted ridges of his muscles.  Her fingertips tingled to touch
him.  Her heartbeat quickened, and the bud betwixt her legs answered its call,
throbbing with awareness.  Saints, she was molesting him with her mind and
hands, and he, in innocence, trusted her to bathe him.  Surely she should be
flogged for the sinful turn of her thoughts, but she could not help their
unbidden arousal.