Ravished (15 page)

          She felt a thousand
kinds of fool for not realizing such a simple truth sooner.  She didn’t dare go
to the stables again—that was expected of her.  However, she didn’t believe any
among them would suspect she would just walk away.

          It was a perfect
plan.  Armed with it, she would succeed.  She slept well into the next day,
easing the aches that plagued her mind and body.  She kept to her room most of
the day, leaving only to partake of the communal meals.

          As dusk gathered,
she realized Bronson was avoiding her, as were his brothers.  She smiled to
herself, thinking of how horrified they must surely be at her actions.  They
deserved it.

          With dark upon her,
she made ready to enact her plan.  She waited until the dwindling moon rose in
the sky, and then she crept through the quiet household, holding her breath as
she listened for movement or sound of discovery.

          It remained quiet
even as she stole outside and gathered her bearings, moving in the direction
where the raid had taken place.  She felt certain her cousins must live that
way, and even if they did not, it could be her fortune would improve and she’d
happen upon another raid.

          She could always
hope.

          As much light as
the moon shed, it still wasn’t enough to completely reveal the ground to her. 
She was not so foolhardy as to bring a torch, and so she walked slowly,
carefully, feeling the ground with each step to make certain she did not injure
herself.

          Before long, she
completely lost sight of the castle.  Her heart jumped for joy.  She would
succeed in this.

* * * *

          “My lord,” a voice
whispered loudly, rousing Bronson from his slumber.  He came up with a growl,
scowling at the person who’d disturbed him.  Blinking in the dimness as watered
light crept through his window, he saw it was the maid, Elizabeth, who’d come
into his room.

          For a moment, he
tried to remember why she would enter his room, and then he remembered--he’d
set her to watching Alex.

          Alarm seized him. 
“Aye?  What is it?  What has happened?”

          “My lord, I-I am
sorry for awaking you, but you bade me come if I saw Lord Montague on the
grounds.”

          “What is it?  Is he
attempting to leave?” he asked as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed
and stood, staggering toward his chest so that he could dress.

          “Nay, my lord,” she
responded, looking at him worriedly, averting her eyes from his nakedness.

          “Then what is it?”
he asked impatiently as he pulled a shirt on and followed it with a short
tunic.

          “He has already
gone.”

          “What?” he
demanded, facing her with a thunderous look.  His gut clenched with sudden
pain.

          “I am sorry, my
lord,” she cried, coming to her knees before him.  She grasped the front of his
tunic.  “I fell asleep on my post.  When I awakened and went to Lord Montague’s
room to stir the fire, I found he’d gone.  I-I searched the grounds and could
not find him.  His horse is still in the stables.  I had not thought he would
go without his horse.  Please, forgive me, my lord, for failing you.”

          Bronson bent and
peeled her hands from his tunic, fighting the pain that held him in its grip. 
With effort, he said, “The fault is mine own.  Pray, do not cry, good woman.  I
cannot bear a woman’s tears.”

          She sniffled,
standing shakily with his assistance.

          “It is good you
came to me when you did.  Now, go to the stablemaster and bid him prepare Ebony
for travel.  I expect it to be done when I come down.”

          “I will, my lord,”
she said, backing out of the room.

          Bronson angrily
pulled on his doublet and hose and fastened his cod piece in place.  He was
furious with himself and Alex.  He’d pushed too far.  He knew he should not
have bedded her, not in that way.  She was a maiden, and he’d taken her in a
way no maiden should ever been taken.  No matter how much he wanted to bed her,
he should have resisted his base instincts.  But the sight of her with that
whore between her legs had enflamed him, and she’d looked up at him, not with
fear in her eyes, but hope and relief.

          He’d ignored that
look as his blood fled to his cock.  All he’d been able to think about was her
spread legs, her soft lips that begged for his kisses.  He was little more than
a rutting madman.  It was no wonder she acted much of the time as if she were
in a terror.  Bronson cursed his monstrous behavior.

          Now she had fled,
gone back to the kin that demanded her return.

          Was he too late to
take her back?  Had the McPhersons lain in wait, taken her while he slept?  It
was entirely likely that she had been, and still, he could not help the fragile
hope that clung to him and begged him make haste.

          His shoes on, his
sheathed sword strapped in place, he rushed out of his room, downstairs and out
onto the grounds.  The household was barely alive at the ungodly hour.  His
brothers would offer no help or hindrance—he was on his own.

          Bronson prayed that
she had only just gone.  He had no notion of what path she’d taken, but he
would travel the most direct route to the McPhersons and hope she’d not had the
forethought to cover her tracks.  She was on foot.  With luck, he could easily
catch up to her.  If her kin found her first, however, he would have a fight on
his hands, and though blows had never been fatal before, he could not imagine
that they would continue to be so, not when they were so desperate to get her
back.

          The stablemaster
held Ebony’s reigns out to him as he came out, and Bronson swung up into the
horse’s saddle, digging his heels into the horses flanks and racing out to find
the woman who’d escaped him.

          He would find her. 
When he did, she would beg for forgiveness.

          Bronson tore
through the countryside, the landscape coming alive as the sun crept over the
horizon.  Ebony snorted with the effort, his hooves eating the ground.  Bronson
cast about, searching his surroundings for some sign of her passing.  He could
see nothing, and as he drew near the pastures where their cattle was kept and
beyond, his hope dwindled.

          Cresting the rise
of a small hill, Bronson slowed to a stop, guiding Ebony along the swell and
looking about from his vantage point.  He spied the blocky shapes of cattle,
their heads to the ground as they leisurely ate.  To the East lay forest, and
to the West, more green land turning brown with the coming winter.

          He was surprised
the little fool hadn’t frozen to death in the cold of the night, but it was a
fair day despite the time of year, and she was a stubborn little thing.

          Bronson sighed,
rubbing his tired eyes, tightening his knees on Ebony as she sidled.  The sun
was glaring down now, he felt the heat of it on his hair.

          He sighed again, in
frustrated anger.  She was gone.  He’d let her slip through his fingers. 
Either her kin had taken her as soon as she’d left, or she’d followed another
path.  It hardly mattered now, either way.

          As he pulled on the
reigns to turn Ebony, movement caught the corner of his eye.  He stopped,
staring hard to the distance.  Moving between the cattle was a man, slight in
stature and build, dressed in a black doublet and hose.  What drew his
attention was the faint swath of red from the slashed sleeves and the flip of a
cape as the wind caught it.

          Why had he been
blind to her before?  He’d not even searched amongst the cattle for her.  He’d
been so certain she was gone, he’d grown slack and unseeing.  Cursing his
carelessness, Bronson kicked Ebony’s flanks, descending the hill at a breakneck
pace, his quarry in sight.

* * * *

          Alex heard the
hooves before she saw the rider.  At first she thought it a passerby, or mayhap
her kin on a raid, and then she realized the sound of thunder came from behind
her.  She whirled around, sure the ground shook from the rider’s pace.  Her
legs became unsteady, her knees wobbling as she saw who approached.  Weakness
flooded her in a debilitating wave.

          Bronson!

          Alex whirled back
around, running.  She was not going to stand still and let him capture her
without trying to flee.  He would have a fight on his hands.  If nothing else,
her pride would not allow her capitulation.

          She struggled up
the slight rise that stood in her way, her aching legs burning from the effort,
her lungs fighting to drag air into her beleaguered body.  Sweat beaded on her
skin despite the stiff breeze ruffling her wig and cape.  She shivered,
ignoring the discomfort and the growing intensity of the hoof beats behind
her.  She heard the frightened lowing of the cattle, heard them flee just as
she did.  Her feet slipped on a dew slicked patch of grass, and her feet nearly
went out from under her in two different directions.

          The beats roared in
her ears.  She felt heat on her back, pushing her onward, harder, faster.  Her
lungs felt close to bursting, pain stabbed her ribs.

          Suddenly she was
flying, choking, her doublet close around her throat as she went sailing into
the air, her arms and legs flailing, one half of her crossing over the breadth
of the horse in a move that stunned her with its impossibility.  She landed
with a loud woof on a lap as hard and unyielding as iron.  Instinctively, she
wrapped her thighs tight against the heaving flanks of the horse to keep from
falling off.  She grasped the pommel for dear life as he turned his mount
sharply and headed in the opposite direction.

          One thick, heavily
muscled arm came across her middle, pulling her flush against the rigidity of
his chest.  Alex screamed and clawed at the arm, her struggles ineffectual
against the  thickness of his sleeves.

          “Cease, boy, I
would not have you hurt us both,” he ground out, tightening on her until she
relented and gasped for breath.

          Frustrated tears
stung her eyes as she was forced to relax back against his chest.  She tried to
hold herself rigid, but fighting him exhausted her, and she was already weary
from walking half the night.  And to what purpose?  He’d found her anyway,
ignored her fighting and screaming and done what he willed.

          She wasn’t ready to
cease her plans to escape.  He’d captured her this time, he would not do so
again.  She meant to continue her plans.  Her very life depended upon seeing
her cousins.  The king’s ire would soon grow to fury.  She could not allow a
fellow countryman to come under the blade.  Her Scottish cousins were not bound
by the king’s law as they were.  She half thought he deserved the punishment of
their Sire.

          “I wish to be free
of you,” Alex ground out, squirming in his hold.  His mammoth of a horse had
already swallowed the ground it had taken her half an hour to cross, already
crossed the hill she’d had so much trouble both climbing and descending.  It
was a hopeless plan that she’d enacted—she saw that now.  The only way for her
to succeed would be to gain her own horse.

          “Your will is at
odds with mine own, and I am always the victor,” he said, grunting as she
elbowed him in the stomach and struggled anew.

          “My will is as
great,” she bit off, wriggling in his lap.  He was as hard as oak, and just as
uncomfortable to sit upon.  The heavy trot of the horse bounced her, forcing
her to accept his hold when she wanted nothing more than to be free of his
touch.

          Her backside felt
branded.  His scent seeped into her pores.  She hated smelling him, hated the
weakness that assaulted her, made her want to give in and do nothing but wallow
on his skin and absorb his heat and scent until she’d lost herself.  She fought
not only him, but her traitorous body as well.  She felt like two halves, split
asunder, one eager for his bedding, the other eager for freedom no matter the
cost.

          “Aye,” he growled,
capturing her attention as a snare, “it is your will that intrigues me.  Cease
your movement this instant or you will regret it!”

          Alex clamped her
mouth shut and wiggled again for pure spite.  She wouldn’t have dared if she’d
known what his response would be.  With a ragged groan, he pulled recklessly
hard on the reigns, making the horse rear.  Bronson lifted his leg to the rear
and dropped down on the ground, pulling her unceremoniously from the saddle.

          Before she could
think to scream, he brought her tumbling to the ground, rolling on top of her,
crushing the wind from her lungs.  “You tempt me more than words can say.  I
should spank you for the trouble you cause,” he bit out as he covered her lips
with his own and drove his hard body between her legs.

          Alex cried out into
his mouth at the forceful grind against her cleft, low, toward her buttocks. 
She pushed at his shoulders, trying to fight him off, horrified at his sensual
intent.  They were in the open, for any and all to see.  He fought her hands
off him, struggled to capture her wrists and pin them above her head as he
dragged his mouth along the line of her jaw.