Besieged Heart (No Ordinary Lovers Collection) (3 page)

Sunrise was just streaking the heavens in shades of lilac and gold when she stepped outside. She gave it no more than a glance before descending the low steps and following a stone path which led around the house, moving in the direction of the noise.

Rayne stood in a clearing with the weapon he had carried the evening before raised to his shoulder. It appeared not unlike a catapult, or perhaps one of the small cannonades with handles which the baron had used during the siege. As she approached, Rayne fired it off again in rapid succession.

Instantly, a paper target in the shape of a man, located many yards away, was perforated at the chest in an overlapping pattern of holes. Mara gasped in amazement.

That soft sound brought Rayne’s head around. He lowered the weapon, turned to face her.

“Morning, Princess. Did you have a good night?”

“Indeed.” It was not a subject she cared to discuss, since she could not remember falling asleep or how she came to be in the exceedingly soft and clean bed where she woke.

“You’ll want to make yourself some breakfast, I expect,” he went on. “You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen.”

“Make my—I’m not sure I understand.” There were so many wonders inside the house that she could not begin to conceive of dealing with them.

“Cook food for yourself. You know, eggs, toast, whatever else you might want. You do cook?”

Stung by his dry tone, she said, “I was given instruction in the principles of ordering a household, including the preparation of foodstuffs, but you must understand that a princess does not concern herself with the actual labor. Others attend to that.”

“Yeah? What do you do when no one is around? Sit and starve?” His amusement was obvious.

“There are always servants.”

“Well, there aren’t any here,” he said easily. “If you want to eat, you’ll have to whip up something.”

“I can’t do that.”

His humor faded. “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to go hungry. I fed you last night because you were a guest who had traveled far from all appearances. You look sufficiently rested this morning, and you could be staying a while. I’ll expect you to see after yourself.”

“Don’t be foolish.” The instant the words were spoken, she wished them back. They sounded entirely too prideful.

“Oh, yes, you’re royalty,” he said with sardonic emphasis. “I suppose that means it’s beneath you.”

“Not precisely. You just know more about such things.” It was, for her, a concession to even attempt such an explanation.

“Not me. Cooking is a woman’s area of expertise.”

“But not mine,” she said distinctly. “I know diplomacy, court etiquette, the art of conversation and how to embroider tapestry. I can provision a garrison, arrange the storage of grain and cattle paid in tribute, and even repel a siege. But I don’t know cookery.”

“You’ll learn,” he said, his tone uncompromising.

She lifted her brows in disbelief. “Because you say it must be so?”

“Exactly.”

“You are deluded. I do nothing I have no wish to do. Nor will I stay here where I am ordered about like a skivvy.”

As she moved to leave him, he stepped to block her way. There was a steady light in his dark eyes and a firm set to his mouth. “You will stay,” he said with grim certainty. “You have no choice.”

“My good man,” she said with a laugh of sheer surprise, “I am not your prisoner.”

“No?” Reaching out, he took her wrist, holding it lightly in his supple fingers. “Escape me, then.”

She met his gaze so close above her. It was as hard as granite and totally implacable. She had an odd feeling that he could look into her mind, could read her sudden knowledge of how little defense she had against him. Her breath caught in her chest while her heart shuddered in a response not entirely due to anger or fear.

It was intolerable.

She set her feet and jerked her wrist, trying to free it from his grasp. His fingers tightened mercilessly.

The pain was abrupt and excruciating. She felt the bones of her wrist grind together. Her knees grew weak, and she heard a roaring in her ears. She cried out with a thin sound embarrassing in its helplessness.

She was freed instantly.

Rayne swung from her, then stood with his shoulders set and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. When he finally spoke his voice was harsh with something that might have been regret, but could as easily have been repressed violence.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you—you try my patience, and I don’t have the time for it.”

“You don’t have time?” she cried in indignation as she cradled her wrist to soothe the ache. “It’s I who haven’t a minute to waste. While I stand here listening to you prattle of food, my people may be dying. And I am not there. I am not…there.”

Her voice trailed away, her throat too tight with emotion to continue. She turned from him in a swirl of fabric and walked swiftly to the house before he could see her anguish. For a moment, she feared he meant to follow, but when she reached the cabin door, she was alone.

By the time she calmed down, she realized her folly. Rayne was right in what he had said: she might well have no choice except to remain here with him. What else was she to do when she knew nothing about this new world with its odd landscape, its peculiar construction materials and fabrics, its frightening weapons and means of locomotion?

She had to admit the situation just now could have been handled more diplomatically. Yet he had touched her on the raw with his smiles at her expense, his penetrating glances and superior strength. He made her doubt who and what she was, required her to question how she should behave toward him.

Added to that, he seemed to think he held her captive. He had even put his hands on her in anger.

What more might he do?

No. She could not stay. Once she was free of him, she could surely find some means in this land of wonders to return to her rightful time and place.

For the moment, however, she could do nothing except remain in the house. Not that it was much of a refuge; this Rayne had followed behind her, after all, watching over her like a sheep dog guarding its charge.

The man broke his morning fast with the juice of golden apples, also with smoked pork strips and eggs in fresh butter. The food was cooked upon a rectangle of white porcelain which grew hot without flame. He toasted perfectly even slices of bread by dropping them into twin slits made in the top of a shining silver urn. Swift and economical in his movements, he operated the peculiar cooking devices with easy competence.

So absorbed was she in watching him work that Mara almost forgot to be hungry. That was until he slid a laden trencher of porcelain onto the table and sat down before it. There was only one such trencher, and it held everything that been prepared.

She was to have none of the delicious-smelling fare. He had told her how it would be, and it appeared he meant what he said. Her stomach protested, her very soul cried out for the sustenance.

She remained silent.

She thought of rising and making something to eat for herself, but she did not know how the magic of producing heat was performed. To ask Rayne to show her would be to capitulate to his decree, something that she refused to consider. She would survive this torture. She had become accustomed to thin rations during the siege.

He was enjoying his food; that much was obvious. He ate his meat in large bites, and crushed the toasted bread between white, even teeth. Yet he was not sloppy about it. He used one of the peculiar Italian utensils known as a
forchetta
, rather than a knife, and he wiped his fingers and mouth with the kind of beautifully dyed linen usually reserved for summer tunics.

The elegance of his belongings and his manners did not make her think better of him. He was overbearing and lacking in a proper respect. She despised him.

He also made her uneasy. Never had she been so aware of a man, of his inherent strength and the force of his personality. There was something elemental about him, as if all pretense of conventional behavior had been pared away to reveal dangerous natural instincts.

In the face of these things, defiance was not just a vital urge but a necessity. She could not, would not, allow him to dominate her. It went against her upbringing. It was contrary to her nature. Most of all, it offended her sense of self.

He made no effort to speak to her while he ate. It was possible he had nothing to say, but seemed more likely that his silence was meant as a rebuke. She did not mind at all. She would just ignore him. She had decisions to make and plans to perfect.

Rising to her feet after a few minutes, Mara left the main room and moved down the hallway to the sleeping chamber. She half-expected that Rayne would call her back, perhaps command her to watch him finish his meal. He did not. With a sigh of relief, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

She moved swiftly to the window and flung the curtains aside. The glass in the frame was like none she had ever seen, as was the wire mesh behind it. Still, the mechanisms to hold them both in place seemed simple enough to manipulate.

With the window opening clear, she stood listening for a moment. No sound came from the main room. She raised her skirts and put her leg over the window sill.

Once out of the house, she kept to the edge of the woods, circling so as to remain unseen from the front windows. There was a track she had noticed which led from the house and into the woods. If she followed it, surely it would to connect with a main road which might take her to a village or a manor, or perhaps even the keep of some nobleman. It seemed worth the attempt, as she and Rayne could not, surely, be the only two people in this land.

Once she reached the track, she set a fast pace, for there was no way of knowing how long it might be before Rayne discovered her absence. She did not doubt he would come after her; his determination seemed of that nature. He meant to best her, seemed to think it his privilege.

One moment the forest was close around the track, the next she came out into the open. Before her lay a hard, black surface that stretched for a quarter of a mile or more before disappearing over the rise of a hill. It was, she thought, a road rather like the wide, stone-paved thoroughfares left behind in Britain by the Romans, and yet it was more level and far smoother. She stood in frowning amazement as she tried to envision what kind of men and tools had been used to construct such a wonder.

Then, from some distance down the road, she heard a low, rushing hum. It grew louder with its fast approach, becoming a high-pitched roar. Mara felt a faint vibration under her feet. From over the rise, there came a great metallic vehicle shining silver in the sun.

It was not a plane, but something else that rolled on think black wheels along the ribbon of hard surface. No, there were two vehicles. One was larger and more bulky than the other, and emitted an even louder roar. The bigger of the two was giving chase to the smaller, bearing down on the other vehicle as if it meant to crush it.

Mara leaped away from the hard surface and whirled to dash back into the forest’s concealing shade. From the protection of a large tree trunk, she stared warily at the black ribbon while her heart thudded against her rib cage.

Abruptly, she was caught by one arm, and then flung around so that the bark of the tree scraped her back. A hard body pressed against her, flattening her against the trunk from head to heels. She caught a sharp, gasping breath and held it trapped in her lungs.

“I should have let them get you,” Rayne said against her ear as the great metal vehicles thundered past them.

She exhaled in a rush of what might have been relief or shock—or both. Her voice constricted, she asked, “Why didn’t you?”

“Because,” Rayne answered in low tones as he eased closer still, “I discovered that I want you more.”

Chapter Three

Mara drew a swift breath. The words Rayne had spoken were no idle jest or jeering banter. She could feel the truth of them as he pressed his pelvis against her.

No man had ever wanted her for herself. At least, none had dared show it.

The baron had certainly harbored no personal desire for her. To him, she was merely a route to power. Marrying her would be a political ploy, bedding her an act no more important to him than pressing his seal into the soft wax at the foot of the marriage contract.

If other knights and nobles of her court had felt passionate regard for her, they kept it to themselves. There was little benefit to be gained by lusting after a princess. She was not free to bestow her heart, and usually too well-guarded for stolen kisses or secret trysts.

Until now.

She was here with Rayne and they were alone. She wondered what he might dare, also whether she had the courage to discover it.

Where had that impulse come from?

She could not tell, not while she was trapped by his hard hands and her blood surged in her veins with such a violent, uneven rhythm. Nothing and no one had ever affected her in quite this way.

“You forget yourself, sir,” she said in husky reproof, and waited for his response in mingled terror and expectation.

He laughed. “You mean I’m forgetting who you are? It’s hardly likely.”

“I mean,” she said evenly, “that you forget your place. And mine.”

He shifted a little to let her feel his arousal more fully. “I have no
place
here, nor do you. We are only a man and a woman with nothing between us except good intentions and a few rags of clothing.”

“One of us has good intentions. The other—”

“Yes?” he said softly as she cut off what she meant to say.

The dappled sunlight falling through the tree limbs overhead gleamed in his hair and danced in his eyes. It made him seem like some woodland creature, fierce and a little fey. Also familiar in some elusive fashion. Doubt stirred inside her, but she pushed it from her. He was only an outlaw, after all.

“One of us,” she said deliberately, “has the intentions and instincts of an animal.”

His face lost all expression. “Why, Princess,” he said with a sardonic edge to his voice, “you should have told me before. I would have been happy to oblige your natural desires.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, I think you did, sweetheart. And so do I.”

Holding her gaze, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers.

Warm…his mouth was warm as the fine spring morning, and just as beguiling. Without haste or undue pressure, he teased her lips into exquisite sensitivity, tasting their flavor, the delicate molding and tucked, moist corners. Her lashes fluttered down as a tremor leaped along her nerves, spreading to the deepest reaches of her body. Her limbs, which had been so taut, were suddenly pliant and accepting.

His lips parted infinitesimally then, and she felt the soft tip of his tongue engage hers in subtle play. Blindly, she followed his lead, enticed by the sweetness, the fine grained abrasiveness, of the tender invasion. From deep inside rose a peculiar, aching excitement. She lifted her hands with a soft murmur, smoothing them over his shoulders and the strong column of his neck before closing her fingers mindlessly on the thick silk of his hair.

He stiffened with a whispered curse, and then withdrew. So strong was her sense of loss that she kept her eyes closed for long seconds while she sought to banish all sign of it.

She had wanted him to go on holding her, had not cared what else he might do. He must never know this. She could not hand him that fearful weapon. But how was she to conceal it?

“I suppose that was a kiss,” she said, assuming a tone of cool irony. “Thank you for the demonstration. I must say it appeared competent. If I should feel the need to have it repeated, I will summon you for the task.”

Anger darkened his face. She watched it grow and was desolated, but it could not be helped.

“My kisses are not given on command,” he said, each word slicing like a honed sword.

“No?” Her reply was soft, but there was barbed certainty behind it. She even smiled.

“I am my own man. You are my guest—and, yes, my prisoner. If I desire to kiss you, I shall. Otherwise, you will have nothing of me.”

The words wounded her self-respect. They were meant to put distance between them, she felt sure, but knowing it did not erase her need to retaliate. “You have no right to hold me captive, and I will not submit to it. As for any other indignities, you venture them at your own risk.”

“Who will prevent me from doing as I please with you?” he demanded. “Who will keep and defend you? Where is your champion?”

His voice. Beneath the strident anger of it was maddening reason. It was a sound she knew. More than that, he had slipped into a cadence and accent very like her own, or like that of someone she knew well.

Could it be? Was it possible?

In icy disdain, she answered, “I am no weakling. I can and will defend myself.”

An expression of cool determination invaded his features. He reached to take her arm in a firm grip. “Then guard yourself well.”

She was jerked forward, off balance. At the same time, he bent from the waist to catch her at her midriff and lift her over his wide shoulder. Surprise and the sudden pressure across her abdomen stole her breath. Before she could move or protest, a hard arm clamped around her knees. Rayne settled her with a quick shift then began to walk with long, swift steps back down the track toward the cottage.

Bouncing upside down, Mara felt the nose-tingling pressure of blood rushing to her head. It combined with her fury and indignation to pound in a blood-red haze before her eyes. She would never forgive him for this indignity. Never.

She wanted to scream, wanted to kick and beat at the man who held her. She would have liked to order him taken and whipped, then flung into some dungeon.

The certain knowledge than none of it would help her kept her still. She grasped desperately at the folds of his shirt to steady herself and caught handfuls of firm, warm flesh. She felt him flinch as her nails bit into him, but she did not care.

“Put…me…down,” she said through clenched teeth.

He made a deep noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, and leaned with a swooping movement to duck under a tree limb before plunging from the track into woods.

When she’d recovered her breath from the dizzying swing, she tried again. “Put me down or I’m going to be sick all over you.”

It seemed he intended to ignore that possibility. They jounced along three more steps, four.

Abruptly he came to a halt. She was catapulted backward off his shoulder. Arms like iron bands caught her in mid-flight, locking across her back and under her knees. With a jarring swiftness, she was turned and hefted against the board-like musculature of his chest.

“Better?” he asked in biting politeness.

It was better, yes, but also far worse. She was more comfortable, but she could see the satisfaction in his face, feel how powerless she was against the superior strength contained in the bands of iron muscles that enwrapped his upper body. She wanted to kill him, yes, but also felt reluctant admiration.

Mixed with it, if she were honest, was secret anticipation, as well as curiosity that would not be denied.

“Why? Why are you doing this?” The words, meant to be imperious, came out as a strangled plea.

He glanced down at her, then away again before he began to walk once more. “Surely you can guess.”

“I prefer to know.”

“Ransom, maybe. The pay-off should be considerable for a princess.”

“I suspected that at first, but now I misdoubt payment is your aim.”

Watching him, she saw no sign of strain on his features. Neither was there the slightest faltering in his step or weakening in his arms around her. His strength really was exceptional.

“You don’t seem to know your way around,” he offered almost at random. “You need someone to take care of you.”

“I suppose you have nothing better to occupy your time?”

“Let’s say I expect the reward to be worth the effort.”

“Reward? And what might that be?”

“It depends. The matter is open for negotiation.”

There was, she thought, a certain grim evasion in his voice. With great daring, she asked, “Another kiss, you mean, or perhaps more than that?”

He came to a halt and stared down at her. A fleeting hunger crossed his face, and then was gone. “Whatever pleases you,” he said evenly, “including your own sweet self.”

The temerity of the man was beyond belief. “Not very likely!” she retorted.

“We’ll see.” His tone carried an unmistakable threat as well as anticipation of his own.

Turning her head, Mara saw the cottage was before them. He had taken a shortcut through the woods.

Inside, everything was just as they had left it: the scraps of his breakfast in the dish, the dish and the eating utensils still on the table. The pan where he had cooked the pork and eggs had cooled, leaving the grease congealed in the bottom.

“Home, sweet home,” he said as he stood her on her feet, holding her arm to steady her. She drew herself up, turning away in the direction of her sleeping chamber.

“Hold on.” He tightened his grasp. “I think it would be a good idea if you cleaned the kitchen, then made yourself something to eat.”

Clean? Cook? They were back to that? It was a far cry from what she had half-feared. She stared at him with disbelief before she spoke. “I am no scullery maid.”

“We’ve already established your status, Princess,” he answered with irony. “I’m talking practical measures, here. There’s only one pan, and you need to clean it before you can use it. I’m not going to do it for you.”

“I don’t require your service, just as I don’t require your food.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “You’re nothing but skin and bones. You must eat.”

His description of her form was most irritating. She lifted a brow. “My appearance is no concern of yours.”

“It is if I have to look at you,” he corrected her as he put his fists on his hips. “Will you do as I say, or are you going to make me force you?”

Her head was high and her gray eyes clear as she faced him. “You may be larger and stronger than I, but there are no means you can use to compel me against my will.”

“No?” he inquired with soft emphasis.

“No.” She lifted her chin as she answered, but her voice was not as commanding as she would have liked.

“You’re dead wrong,” he said, taking a long step closer. “You are in my hands, as surely as if I had captured you like one of your old-fashioned knights or you were compelled to wed me against your precious will. Do you have any idea what that means?”

She retreated a step, her voice uneven as she said, “Nothing at all, for I refuse—”

“Refuse by all means, for what good it will do you.” He advanced another long stride so she was forced to back away from him. “You have no defense against me.”

“I will resist with all my might.”

“Do that. It will make a fine excuse to strip you naked and beat you.”

“You wouldn’t!” Her eyes widened as she searched his implacable features. She stumbled backward another step.

“Wouldn’t I?” His words matched his steady footsteps as he moved after her. “That is only the beginning of what I might do. I could make you walk unclothed before me. I could allow you no privacy while you bathe or attend to nature’s needs. I could make you lie nude beside me in my bed. I could use you as I please, when I please. What,” he finished, leaning toward her as she came up against the edge of the table, “is there to stop me?”

“Decency,” she said in desperation as she put out her hand to ward him off, her fingertips tingling as she felt the iron-like heat of him through his clothing. “Honor.”

His smile had a feral edge. “I am not noble, certainly have no royal blood. What have decency and honor to do with me?”

She had been wrong. He could not possibly be her wizard, as she had come to suspect. Honor had been a by-word with her wizard, honor and caring. If this Rayne had sounded like him for a brief instant, it had been due to no more than his mocking imitation of her own speech.

She swallowed hard in dismay. Suddenly light-headed, she closed her eyes. She felt so very dizzy. Hunger, that was the reason—certainly it wasn’t disappointment or grief.

No, it was just that she had eaten so little these past weeks. Even the night before, she had been too exhausted to do more than taste what had been prepared for her. It was stupid, really, to defy her captor over something as necessary as food. She should have chosen her ground more wisely.

Captor.

What a bitter taste the word left upon her tongue.

She wanted to fight him tooth and nail, but it would do no good. She could not defeat his hard strength if he chose to use it; she had few illusions on that score. In which case, it would be best if she did not compromise her dignity by giving him reason to lay hands on her.

She must surrender to his demands; there was no other way. She would survive the damage to her pride, without doubt, but could she endure the humiliation of soul?