Ravished (7 page)

          ‘Twas harder than
she’d expected to knot the sheets and tie them together, then tie them to the
bed.  Her hands ached, but she was satisfied the results would hold.  Opening
the window, peering down and seeing no one, she threw the make shift rope out,
gratified to see it was long enough to reach the ground.

          She had a more
difficult time going out.  Strange how she’d never known she had an aversion to
heights until now.  Her legs dangled against the wall as she sat on the sill,
debating.

         
Enow!
 
Gritting her teeth, she turned carefully and took the plunge.

          The bundle of
clothes she’d tied around one shoulder and her neck near strangled her as she
went over, but she wouldn’t spare a hand to ease her strangulation.  She’d
trust in god not to pass out before she reached bottom.

          The going was slow,
painfully so, but her feet touched the blessed ground before she knew it.  She
regretted having to go back up but shrugged.  She would tackle that obstacle
when she came to it.  Almost tempted to kiss the earth, she bounded off toward
the stream, unaware of the shadow that detached itself from the manor and
followed her.

* * * *

          Bronson was making
his last rounds when he noticed the ribbon of white that burst through the
lighted window and flailed against the wall like a lonely vine.

          He stepped into the
shadows without thinking, watching in shock as the boy hung over the edge.  His
heart dropped to his belly. 
The damned fool!
  He’d splatter on the
unmerciful ground.

          The boy sat in
indecision.  Bronson had just recovered enough to find his voice to warn the
boy of his folly when he thought better of it.  He would see what the scamp was
up to first.

          The lad had rankled
him all night--an enigma he had yet to solve and was determined he would.  He
watched as the boy slowly clambered down.

          He certainly had no
fear, an admirable trait, though one that could kill him.  Bronson had been
known to make grown warriors quake with his coming, and yet the child knew
instinctively that Bronson would give him no hurt, despite the fact that he so
richly deserved a good throttle.  He hadn’t quite decided whether or not the
boy would be a serious problem to Constance’s virtue, but he would keep an eye
on him to prevent anything from happening, all the same.

          The boy reached
bottom, unhurt, and he released a breath he hadn’t known he held.

          The lad paused,
looking around, then grinned and dashed for the river, following it towards the
copse of trees that had yet to be felled.

         
What was he up
to?

          He followed at a distance
now that he’d seen where the boy headed.  He kept to shadows when he could, but
the land was clear much of the way and he was forced into the open most of the
time.

          Bronson reached the
dark woods, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimmer surroundings.  Splashing
sounded ahead and he moved with stealthy quiet through the trees.

          A small pool formed
in a clearing, moonlight glimmering upon the water like flashing stars.  The
boy moved into the light, into the water’s edge, his hose and tunic gone.

          He was merely going
to take a bath--had been too shy to bathe with the others.  Disgusted, Bronson
was about to leave when the lad pulled off his shirt.

         
What the devil
had he wrapped about himself?
  Thinking the fool had sustained some injury,
to the chest no less, he paused in his steadfast approach as the boy unwrapped
the bindings and revealed what was beneath.

          Bronson stood stock
still, blood rushing in his ears, his thoughts running chaotic through his
brain.  He blinked slowly, staring hard to be certain, not quite believing. 
The boy was a girl!  And not just a girl, but a woman full grown if the rounded
shape of her breasts were any indication of age.  His head rushed with a
mixture of lust and the furious pound of blood.

          He watched in
astonishment as she pulled what he now knew was a wig from her head and shook
out an abundance of crushed curls.  An unbidden longing to see their color
gripped him.

          She bent, lithe as
a doe, and dipped her head in the water, rising up and flinging the soaked
tresses in the air and against her back.  He heard her gasp and laugh, saw her
breath misted in the cold night air, her nipples hardened in the chill.

          Blood pounded in
his groin as he raked his gaze over her body, sleek and muscled, seductive as a
siren.  He licked his suddenly dry lips, a need to taste and touch near
overwhelming him.  How long had it been since he’d lain with a woman?  Known
intimacy of the flesh, or felt a woman’s lips upon his own?  His coddles
tightened, drawing up with need.

          He clenched his
fists and ignored the near pain he felt, watching her bathe in innocence. 
Indeed, he
had
been too many a night without a woman to slake his
desire--and he felt the neglect with tormenting severity.

          Bronson stifled a
groan as she slickened her body with soap and rubbed her hands over her breasts
and stomach.  His hands itched to do the deed himself, and his shaft pounded
with a sudden surge of blood.  He rubbed his cock, muffling an anguished moan,
trying to ease the pressure, but it did no good.

          His breath came
harsh and fast.  He turned away, unable to bear the sight a moment longer, lest
he ruin himself.  He’d thought her comely enough for some lord’s plaything ...
and those drawers--they enflamed him now at the thought of her tight bottom
encased in them, sheer to transparency, garnished with lace, innocence....

          He felt a thousand
kinds of fool.  Why had he not realized the boy was a woman?  Was he so far
gone that he could not see the signs now?  ‘Twas because he’d been blinded by
his own presumptions.  Never had he heard of a woman daring such a thing--he
paused in his thoughts.  That was not so.  Gray had encountered one before,
bore the ill marks to this day.

          Could she be a spy
for the McPhersons?  Was that why she’d failed to attack them on the raid
tonight?  Hidden on the ground until he and his brothers had won?

          It made a deadly
kind of sense.  Had their games with the McPhersons turned treacherous?  And if
not them, who else would have cause to spy upon them?

          Bronson knew of only
one way to find out for certain--and that was through the woman.  He would
watch her now, until he could spring his trap.

          A plan formulated,
he cast a look back at her.  She would be finished soon.  The pain betwixt his
legs increased once more at the sight of her, and he cursed her for his own
body’s betrayal.

          He slipped back
through the woods the way he’d come to prepare.

* * * *

          Alex cautiously
found her way back to the manor, invigorated by her cleansing and the fact that
she’d succeeded in at least one thing tonight.

          Her ‘rope’ still
hung undisturbed she saw, and she ran to it, practically skipping with
excitement.

          Alex grabbed a
length and started hauling herself up when a dread voice spoke behind her,
“Where do you think you are going?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

          Alex froze and
swallowed her heart.  Putting on a calm facade, which in no way mirrored her
own turbulent thoughts, she dropped back to the ground and faced him, prepared
for her doom.  He looked inordinately pleased with himself.

          “I am going
nowhere, my lord.  Do you fear I would run away?”  She was proud of how smooth
her voice when she spoke, belying none of the anxiety she felt gazing upon
him.  Discreetly, she dared to glance about for an alternate route of flight
should necessity warrant it.

          “Now why shouldst I
think that?  Wherefore do you gallivant about in the night, as though you have
the run of the manor?”

          “I was not aware I
was a prisoner, my lord.  Had I but known, I would have remained in my room for
my allowance of torture.”

          He chuckled and
stroked his chin, looking deep in thought.  “You have a sharp tongue, boy.  I
wouldst have the truth from you, however.  You are a pup, I was much the same
as you at your age.  Were you, perchance, seeking a bed-fellow to shine your
pretty bauble?”

          Alex gasped,
outraged.  “My lord, your mind runs most foul.”

          “Aye, ‘tis the mind
of a man.”  He looked at her in silent speculation, his eyes revealing none of
his odious imaginings.  “Are you yet untouched?  We shall have to remedy that.” 

          She didn’t dare
answer him, but her throat had closed of a sudden and she couldn’t if she had
wanted.  He moved close, crowding her, a wolfish smile on his lips as he gazed
down at her.  She hadn’t realized before now the potency of his maleness.  It
thrilled and scared her all at once.  An indefinable flutter of weakness
assailed her, making her knees watery.  She almost wished things could be
different, that she wasn’t who she was.

          Alex eased her back
against the cool stone as if she could melt into it, attempting to gain a
measure of distance from him, but he remained unnervingly near.  If she tilted
her mouth just so, she could kiss him.  Somehow, the insane thought persisted,
and it was all she could do not to enact her madness.  Saints, she’d known the
demon spawn but for a few hours, but already he weakened her resolve,
distracted her from her purpose.  She clenched her jaw, feigning anger.  “If
you must know, I was training.  ‘Tis something I do to improve my strength.”

          “I see.”  He was
close enough she could catch his scent, the smell of his clean skin tantalizing
her senses, danger a seduction all its own.  Alex swallowed hard, trying to
clear her head of his enticing scent.  If she’d been a ‘woman’ in this
situation, what would he do, what would be different?  The fantasy of being
trapped, helpless against the wall as he ravished her played out in her mind. 
She bit her lip, squeezing her thighs tight, embarrassed at her bold thoughts.

          “If ‘tis strength
you need, we shall put you through your paces in the field on the morrow.”  He
clamped a hand on her arm, squeezing, kneading the muscle.  “From the feel of
you, I can tell you’ve sorely lacked in training.  You feel as puny as a
girl
.”

         
As a girl!
 
His arrogance snapped her out of carnal fantasy.  Furious, she tried to snatch
her arm away, but he held tight.  She was so angry she didn’t think to question
his odd behavior.  “I am wiry.  Not all
men
are blessed with bulbous
muscles ‘neath their shirts.”

          He cocked a brow. 
“Have you been measuring me ... as I bathed?”

          Alex felt her face
flame.  “Why wouldst I do that?”

          “I know not. 
Unless, perhaps you have not set your eyes on my sister a’tall, but a lord
worthy of your perversions.”

          “Perversions! 
W-what--”  She gritted her teeth, fuming in silence, sure he was referencing
his catamite obsession once again.  She feared dressing as a young lord may
have been unwise.  She was not so vain to think her femininity outshone her
boyish appearance.

          At her lack of
response, he said, “Mayhap I have acted hasty in my negative assumptions,
missed the
pleasures
to be found in court.  One such as yourself could
have something to teach me....”

          She looked at him,
terror in her eyes.  He seriously thought her …  that she would….   Saints, the
prospect of fulfilling his fantasies hobbled her mind.  Her mouth dropped open,
forbidden thoughts assailing her.

          “I have no idea
what this catamite business is but I--”

          He released her arm
suddenly as he broke into laughter, a bad habit he had developed quickly at her
expense.  His shoulders shook with his mirth, his breathing harsh and broken as
he guffawed.

          “Y-you jest?”  When
he nodded, she punched him in the arm with all her might.

          He stopped
laughing.  She smiled in triumph, then considered the repercussions as his
brows drew down in anger.

          “Ow!”  Bronson
rubbed his arm.  “Mayhap there is hope for you yet, pup.  Come, I apologize for
my farce.  Get you to bed.  No more training tonight.”  He looked at her
meaningfully, as though he doubted her word.  Alex thanked the lord matters had
not turned out for the worst.

          They went upstairs
and he confiscated her rope, his face steadfast and serious despite her
protestations of innocence.  He left her then, a bemused smile on his face that
puzzled her.  The man delighted in her torment—it was obvious.