Wild and Wicked (13 page)

The soldier swallowed nervously. “I think . . . I think mayhap she escaped before I came on duty.”

Collin threw the man a blistering look. “That would be convenient in saving your miserable neck, now wouldn’t it?”

“There be no other explanation.”

Snorting his disgust, Collin kicked the empty pail that had been left for her to relieve herself in. It banged against the wall, sending a rat hiding in the corner scurrying through a crack near the door.

“Call the guards, or what’s left of them,” he ordered, his gaze sweeping the small interior one last time. “Search the castle.
Again.
Christ Jesus, none of the guests are to leave yet. Look through every cart, every wagon and turn this place upside down.” He was on the stairs again, his boots ringing loudly. “And when Lord Devlynn returns, you will be the one to give him the message that his prize prisoner has escaped!”

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Father Hadrian asked as Geneva tried to slip through the main gate.

She froze, turned and faced the repugnant man of God in his fine alb that shimmered like pure silk in the sunlight. Oh, that he was more like Father Benjamin.

“To the forest to gather herbs,” she said, managing a frozen smile that she knew wouldn’t placate his suspicious mind.

“For what purpose—to chant your heathen spells and make your deals with the devil? Oh, I know who you are, witch, and though others may be charmed by you or blind as Father Benjamin to your charms, I can see through your sham.”

“Cook needs herbs as her garden is depleted.” ’Twas not really a lie. Geneva had spoken with the cook herself, suggesting she go out to replenish the sparse larder with spices that grew wild in the hills.

“’Tis winter,” Hadrian pointed out. “Little grows.”

“But roots can be dug, dried herbs still found if one knows where to look and winter apples can be gathered.”

His lips thinned, for there was no argument unless he called her a liar. “Would you not take someone with you? ’Tis not safe beyond the castle walls.”

Safer than within,
she thought but held back the words. “’Tis daylight, Father, and I’ll be back anon. There is no reason to worry.”

Frowning, he glanced past the gatehouse where the portcullis with its sharp bars was suspended above. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, “but be quick about it. I promised Lord Payton that I would look after everyone while he was away.”

“You mean Lady Apryll,” Geneva said, wondering at Hadrian’s slip of the tongue.

His nostrils flared smugly. “Aye, I mean the lady.”

“And is not Sir Brennan in charge while Lady Apryll is away?”

“Of course he is,” the self-centered man of God said with a nod. “I but do Brennan’s bidding. He asked me to tend to the servants and peasants while he is busy with more important matters.”

“Such as?” she asked, smelling a lie.

“Running the keep, of course. He has much to do with the garrison, legal arguments and dealing with that miserable steward, Andrew. Why the lady keeps him is something only God the Father can divine.”

She heard a shuffling and saw Father Benjamin walking with a young yellow-haired boy of six or seven who was his guide for the day. “What goes here?” he asked, his sightless eyes looking the wrong direction, toward the carter’s hut where a wheelwright was mending a broken cart wheel.

“Geneva wants to wander around the forest gathering nuts and roots and herbs,” Hadrian snorted, and the blind priest turned his head to face his younger cohort.

“And you disapprove?”

“’Tis not safe.”

“Ah, this is where you and I disagree,” the older man said with a kind smile as he patted his young guide’s head with gentle fingers. “The Lord will protect her as He protects all His children. Go, Geneva, be off, and if you find any of that root that tastes of anise, bring a little back to me.”

“I shall,” she promised and hurried through the gate before Hadrian came up with any more excuses to keep her within Serennog’s crumbling walls.

She had to right the wrong that she’d committed, the sin of a lie. Oh, she’d been a fool. Because she was in love. With a man who could never give her his heart.

Mayhap because he had no heart to give.

Devlynn’s breathing was even and slow as if he’d fallen asleep, though Apryll could not see his eyes. If the hard length of him was to be believed he was still aroused, for she felt his member pressed into the cleft of her buttocks. Every time she moved, or he shifted slightly, the pressure moved and created unholy feelings deep within her.

She had tried to pull away several times but each time she attempted to ease out of his grasp, he responded by holding her even more tightly.

She’d dozed on and off and the bright day had darkened as clouds had blocked the sun.

She was warm on the bed and, ridiculously, felt more secure and safe than she had ever since she’d agreed to the idiocy of raiding Black Thorn. Ah, to relax and sleep, to find some peace in slumber.

But not here. Not with Devlynn. Not when she needed to escape.

She eased her body from his, slowly, putting inches of air between them, trying to slip her hands free of his hard grasp. His fingers seemed to slacken and her heart leapt. Mayhap she could get away, take whatever horses were left and leave him here alone.

She smiled for she wanted to escape for reasons other than her freedom. She wanted to prove to him that she was sly and able to best him. That she was a worthy adversary. And yet . . . a rebellious womanly part of her wanted to stay here in this bed, to nestle up against him and pretend that he cared for her, that they were lovers, that he would protect her.

She scowled at the thought. How could she be such a goose? She was his worst enemy, a woman who had dared lead a band of thieves and kidnappers over the threshold of Black Thorn. He would never trust her again. Not even if she returned his son. Nay, the baron of Black Thorn would be here and evermore her sworn enemy. She had to break free.

She edged farther still, sliding her hands slowly, ever so painstakingly out of his grip. One foot was free and she inched it to the edge of the bed. Yes, yes . . . now her legs and buttocks as her fingers were slipping steadily from his fingers.

She began to sweat with the effort of being so quiet.

Outside the wind raced and a few drops of rain began to fall, plunking against the tent and sliding down its sides.
Lord help me,
Apryll silently prayed and, just to make certain that she was heard, put up a mental prayer to the Great Mother as well.

The other foot had caught its mate, but still her arms were stretched. Until . . . oh, by the gods, his fingers opened and she moved across the bed to—

Thump!

He was on her quick as a tiger pouncing, pinning her flat against the mattress with his body, his chest pushed hard against her breasts. “Think you it would be so easy to fool me again, lady?” he asked, his eyes dark silver in the shadowy tent.

“I—I needs to relieve myself,” she said, ready with the lie.

“Then why not wake me?”

“’Tis a private matter,” she said as if miffed.

“I would walk you outside.”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh, nay, little one. Not after you have twice eluded me and my men. So?”

“I’ll wait,” she replied, not relishing the thought of him following after her through the naked brush to a somewhat private spot where she could untie her breeches. “Until dark.”

“Whatever you wish.” But he didn’t move. His chest was crushing hers, his breath warm and enticing upon her neck, and he was staring at her with a look that she could only describe as hunger.

Inside she melted, her blood heating despite the cold winter day. “What I wish is for you to get off of me,” she said breathlessly.

He lifted a skeptical dark brow. “So that you can run away?”

“So that I can breathe!”

His smile twisted in sardonic disrespect as he eyed the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “You seem to be breathing easily enough.”

She tried to wriggle away, but his weight kept her flat on her back and as she moved he placed one arm through her legs, the other plucking at the laces of her tunic.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Perhaps I should see for myself if, indeed, you cannot get air,” he said.

“Nay! You have no right.”

“No, you have no right. None. Not one. You gave them all up when you breached my keep and stole from me.” Slowly he slid one of the laces through the eyelets holding the tunic together. The thin strand of leather scraped against her skin. She squirmed. The arm hooked between her legs pushed upward so that the bulge of his muscle was pressed to that intimate juncture as the flat of his hand slid beneath the hem of her tunic to brush against the bare flesh of her back.

“This is monstrous,” she breathed but felt a throb of desire deep within, a wanton lust that she denied.

He pulled the leather lace from the tunic. “Monstrous? My touch? Compared with taking my child, murdering my guards, stealing my horses and breaking into my treasury? This—touching you—is monstrous?”

“A gentleman would never treat a lady so.”

“A lady would never commit the sins and deception you have.” He stared at the open V of the tunic and the wild beating of her pulse. There was hunger in his gaze and lust, a quicksilver shadow of indecision against features chiseled as if in stone.

Oh, he was a handsome devil and capable of dark, dangerous seduction. Had she not been thinking of laying with him in order to get him to sleep so that she might elude him? Could she do it? Give up her body to save her keep?

Now, staring into those flinty-hot eyes, she knew that should she lay with him, ’twould be only the start. His gaze promised a taste of delicious and decadent delights that, she knew, would leave her craving more.

Slowly, he leaned forward and with his tongue pushed the slit over her breasts further open. Her skin tingled at the wet, strong touch.

“Nay—do not—ooh—”

He laved at the circle of bones at her throat, then whispered across them, “Mayhap now you will talk to me, Lady Apryll.”

“Talk?”

“Tell me what you planned when entering my castle, why you stole from me, where you took my boy.”

“I—I—told you.”

His lips nipped at the soft flesh under her chin. She trembled. Oh, what would it feel like to have those hot lips upon her own?

“You told me your brother betrayed you because he wants to wreak vengeance against me.”

“’Tis true.”

His mouth scraped down her neck, concentrating again on the gap in her tunic. Hot air slipped beneath the coarse fabric and her nipples hardened in anticipation. Dear God, she
wanted
him to kiss her there.

The fingers on her back began to knead her flesh. “Tell me, Apryll,” he said, nudging the fabric of her tunic with his nose as his fingers massaged the small of her back, drawing her closer, his arm pressed oh, so torturously close to the center of her womanhood.

Blood rushed through her veins as his teeth nipped, his lips caressed and his tongue washed her skin, searching lower, touching the tops of her breasts, making them full while far below she felt a great yawning, a dusky want that swirled deep within.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

“I told you. We were to meet at Serennog, though I knew not about . . . about the boy.”

He nipped at her again. “Liar.”

“’Tis the truth. We split up at the fork in the road, north of Black Thorn, near . . . near the old mill . . . oooh . . .” There was a dampness between her legs now, warm and oozing, a slickness she knew was to welcome a man . . . this man . . . oh, God, what was she thinking? She could not lay with him.

“Why did you divide your forces?”

“To confuse your soldiers. We knew . . . we knew you would give chase and . . . oh, please . . .”

“Please what?” he asked.

“Please . . .” She wanted to beg for him to strip her bare and take her virginity, do anything to end this sweet torment tearing her up inside. Instead, she said, “Please stop.”

“That is what you want?”

“Yes.”

He slid his hand inside her tunic and rubbed a thumb over her nipple. “’Tis not what your body says,
m’lady.
It cries out for me.”

“Nay—”

“Oh, yes, and . . .” He shifted, removing the arm wedged between her legs so that he could position himself there, his body atop hers, his legs long against hers, his manhood hard and stiff upon her abdomen. “. . . and I want you, as you can tell. ’Twould be easy enough, methinks, but not until you confide in me, give me Yale’s location.”

“Payton told me not, but I would think he would take the boy to Serennog and hold him prisoner until he bargained with you.” She was fighting to speak coherently, for she could barely concentrate with his cock so close to the center of her femininity. The back of her throat tightened and an aching want throbbed for the feel of him.

He sighed. Shook his head and, in one swift motion, rolled off of her. Before she could move, he peeled the tunic from her and lifted her hands above her head to bind them with the leather laces he’d taken from her neckline.

“Nay, you cannot. What are you thinking?” she threw out at him, horrified that he could see her nakedness. She struggled to her feet and he pushed her gently back onto the mattress.

“Where is my boy?”

“With my brother.”

“Where?”

“Mayhap at the keep by now. Why do you not believe me?”

“Because you lie, lady. You lie through those beautiful teeth of yours and I need the truth.”

“Which is all I have given you,” she argued as he stared at her bare breasts.