Romancing the Rogue (175 page)

~~~~

“Here, cover yourself.” Marek stood above her, a blanket in hand.

The girl shivered in her restless sleep, clutching her knees to her chest. Her eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice, and she roused to take the blanket from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

“There’s still a small fire. You may warm yourself if you like.”

Brynn
retreated deeper into her little corner, shaking her head in defiance.

Marek released a heavy sigh, lowering his frame against the wall opposite her. “Very well, but I would much rather be near the fire. I don’t relish freezing this night as you do.”

“You don’t plan on… sleeping there?”

“As I said, I would much rather be closer to the fire.”

“So go then,” she countered.

“So you can run out foolishly into the night? No.” Marek placed his arms behind his head, feigning relaxation. “And you seem to have my only dry blanket.”

She shoved the covering at him. “Take it.”

“Might we share it?” he offered, amusing no one but himself.

Brynn snorted a cynical laugh. “As if I would ever allow that, Archaean.”

“I merely offer warmth on this bitter night.”

“What is it you plan on doing with me? If you won’t take me home, and I cannot leave your sight, what exactly are your intentions?” Brynn looked at him with expectant eyes.

Deep conversation was far from his thoughts; he much preferred silence — and sleep. He rubbed his fingers over his brow, reluctant to reply. “We are taking you to the Crossroads, and then my men and I are going home.” He needed to remain calm, to stay in control. This girl had a way of taking over his mind.

“What is the Crossroads? What are you not telling me?” The quivering of her words as they slipped off her tongue outweighed the hint of anger in her voice.

Damn it
, he should have kept his mouth shut. Now the questions and the tears would flow, and he’d be forced to deal with her womanly emotions. By the gods… women and their crying, they turned him into a bumbling fool.

Brynn sucked in a shaky breath, a clear sign of tears.

“The Crossroads is where our two lands meet. We will give you to a rich family, head to our own lands, and be done with you. You are a liability to me and my men.”

“Surely you jest,” she protested. “You cannot be serious, I am of noble birth.”

“Oh, I am more than serious,
milady
.”

“How dare you mock me!” she shouted “Never more than now have I wished you dead! I could have you hanged!”

“
Me
dead? Why,
my lady
, you would be the one
dead
if it were not for
me
saving your pathetic excuse for a life. Living the life of a slave will be far more beneficial than living under the rein of that man you call your
father
!”

“My father is a fine Engel ruler! He would love nothing more than to snap the neck of an Archaean!”

“You defend him? When was the last time you took a good look at yourself,
Engel
?” Marek found himself creeping ever closer to her seething little body, those taught breasts heaving and those deliciously tempting full lips taunting him with a pout. “What little I was taught about races, love, is that Engels have not been born with
yellow
hair for hundreds of years. If my memory serves me well, the entire reason your Engel army has been attacking our villages for a lifetime is because of that same yellow hair that adorns
your
pretty little head! Engel?
Horse shit
.”

He was close to her now, so close that her breath was hot against his own, clinging to every little bead of moisture coating his skin. Marek curled a long tendril of her hair around his finger and rubbed it with his thumb. “Trust me,
Archaean
,” he whispered, releasing the curl, “your Engel father has disowned you — if he ever claimed you at all — and life as you once knew it is no more.”

“No…” The word barely escaped on a breath as she shook her head in weak disagreement.

Marek reined in his temper. “The life of a nursemaid is a good life. It is money in your purse and a roof over your head. Forgo trying to live as an Engel — you will never
be
an Engel. Marry an Archaean, one that will love
you
, not some piece of land and a bit of coin. Have a family… children. Do not submit to your father, he doesn’t want you. Find someone who does.”

Her heart shattered before his eyes — he watched it crumble into irreparable pieces. Her anger for him bubbled over into her face, flushing her dampened cheeks, and she turned from him, hiding her emotion in the shadows. He watched as the realization of her fate became final in her mind as she attempted to rationalize the situation.

“Never will I be a servant to any man. You make a grave mistake with your words.”

“Then you will die alone. You are just a little girl. You do not know what is best for you.” Marek’s voice grew unsteady with frustration. The more she spoke, the more he wanted to shut her mouth for her. By the gods, she made his blood boil.

“I am
not
a little girl!” Brynn pushed herself upright.

Harsh shadows contorted her movements, jutting across the cave wall like ocean waves. Countering his advancements to match hers, Marek questioned her actions. “Going somewhere, Brynn?”

“I won’t be sold to the highest bidder, Marek.” Her voice, low and smooth, dripped with determination. She had made up her mind about something, but Marek couldn’t decipher what. That made him extremely nervous.

The girl circled behind him, molding into the curvature of the rock. Before he could differentiate her from stone, she was on top of him, rolling him to his back. Marek scrambled to snag what he could of her as she viciously clawed at him, beating his chest with bunched fists, writhing under his control.

He stilled, his hold on her slackening, when the familiar texture of cold steel bore down against his throat. So, the little she-devil had found a dagger.

Ronan
, he realized. His thoughts raced in circles.

How much had he gathered about her?
Not enough
.

Did she have the strength and courage to do it?
Possibly
.

Had she used a weapon before? From the way the blade was shaking, shaving off tiny bits of skin with each quiver of her hand, it was hard to tell. Several tactics crossed his mind before deciding which path to follow. He knew what he must do — he’d found himself in worse situations before, but did he want out of this one? A ravishing creature with a dagger sat raving mad on his chest, and strangely, he rather liked it. His heartbeat quickened with each breath. “Do it,” he told her, growling the words. “Nothing would be easier.”

Hot thighs constricted his torso, clenching tighter with each rise and fall of his chest. Marek studied her, his eyes unwavering. The dagger on his throat pressed deeper, and he swallowed hard against it, unsure of her next move. Countering any man, instincts would have taken over, and he would have gutted his opponent by now, but never before had he been pinned by a mere woman.

Yet there he was — rendered powerless against a captivating girl who simply held a blade to his throat, and a small one at that. He could easily toss her with one arm, but every time he looked at her, his thoughts contorted into utter distraction. She intoxicated him like rare wine, and drove him mad for more.

His fingers found her ankles, encircling them in one smooth caress. She caught a breath in her mouth and the dagger shifted. The silent warning, however, didn’t deter his intentions of exploring her calves with his palms.

Marek stared up at her, never shifting his gaze. A torturous ache gushed through him, tingling with gluttonous pleasure. He lingered along her calves, exploring every new curve in thorough adoration. In deliberate disregard of her feeble objection, Marek hooked his thumbs under the hem of her skirt, and manipulated the fabric to her waist. His hands arched around the fullness of her thighs and squeezed tight, kneading her flesh with a demanding urgency.

He jerked her forward onto his chest.

“
Do
it
,” he commanded.

~~~~

“I
will
do it.” Brynn could barely breathe. What had he done to her? She wanted to touch him, to quench the thirst for him. With every passing moment, he took her deeper into oblivion. Steadying herself, she placed her hand on his chest. She needed to see the fear in his eyes, to know she was still in control. But as she leaned into him, what looked back at her wasn’t fear. She saw something that she had never before seen in a man’s eyes… hunger.

She didn’t resist when his wandering embrace somehow found its way to her middle, up her torso to graze the swell of her breasts, and over to her shoulders to the delicate length of her neck. Marek brought his face to hers, the dagger still pinned against his throat. With one hand on her nape and the other possessively on her waist, he pushed her lips to his and parted them with his tongue.

Her body betrayed her, and she collapsed against him. In one swift movement, he locked his arms around her, rolling her body to the ground beside his. His fists tangled in her hair. Marek pulled her close and tasted her. She lay helpless in his arms, fully welcoming his exploration of her mouth. She moaned, edging closer to the verge of losing herself in his embrace.

He teased her tongue, nipping at her lip while muttering fervently in his lyrical lilt and hungrily devouring her kisses. Lost in the moment, Brynn released the blade.

The dagger clinked to the ground, ripping her back to the present. He had enchanted her, made her lose focus. He took advantage of her innocence to free himself from death. The tips of her fingers found a loose rock and she clasped it in her fist, brought it up from her side, and cracked it against Marek’s skull.

He dropped her with a painful shout, covering the wound with his hands. Brynn scrambled away from him and staggered to her feet. She leaped for the mouth of the cave, still reeling from her very first kiss.

Take My Hand

Marek roared.

Brynn veered toward freedom by leaping over a saddle blocking her exit. She took the next barrier in stride.

Gavin caught her in midair, and Brynn crashed into his chest. Kicking and screaming, she knew she must escape. The rain poured from the skies with a constant drumming overhead, and she could lose herself in it, if only she could break free from his tight hold. With a one swift kick between his legs and a bite to the arm nearest her face, Brynn wriggled from Gavin’s hold. She bolted from the cave and into the downpour.

Her heart didn’t slow until she was a great distance from the cave. The Archaean’s must have chosen not to follow, as there was no sign of them. The rain receded with the rising of the sun, and Brynn hummed a melody in time with the chirping of a song bird. Enjoying her solitude, she plodded along the soft forest floor, careful to keep a watchful eye. But soon, as she felt no threat, she let down her guard, singing to lighten her spirits. Touching her bottom lip with her tongue, she was still able to taste Marek on her mouth.

The sound of water splashing on rocks sang with her, growing louder as she approached a clearing. Before her, a babbling brook called to her, its tune beckoning her to stay for a bit — to taste the sweet nectar of the spring. Surrendering, she complied, lifting her skirts to step into the pool. The warm liquid was a relief and soon she was fully enveloped in it. The caked dirt dissolved; the water cleansing her skin and clothes. She peeled the garments from her body then placed them on the bank to dry.

With eyes closed, she imagined herself on a breezy hill tumbling with her brothers. For an instant — just a small one — she saw her mother’s glowing face. How beautiful she must have been. Sinking lower into the pool, she contemplated her fate. A certain lopsided grin flashed through her mind just before she returned to the surface.

Brynn stood, a bit unnerved that the Archaean’s face had appeared in her thoughts. Rubbing the water from her eyes, she took a calming breath. Running her fingers through the tangles in her hair, she set to work on the difficult task of grooming herself and passed the time by singing. Words flowed from her lips like the softest of silks.

~~~~

Before daybreak, Marek set out on his horse to find Brynn. He couldn’t push her from his thoughts. Her face lingered fresh in memory as he picked his way through the woodlands. He’d lost control — how had that happened? He’d kissed her fully and thoroughly, and he liked it. Hell, he still craved it. He cursed, knowing full well his conscience would eat at his soul until he was safely home in the arms of his Nya.

The best thing for him would be to get as far away from the girl as possible. His body had taken over in the cave. He couldn’t let it happen again. He would transport Brynn to the Crossroads, see to her safety, then be on his way and forget all about her.

If only he could.

Small footprints along the edge of a puddle caught his eye. Perhaps she was still close.

A light breeze toyed with his wavy locks, bringing with it sweet smells of wildflowers and the faint sound of… singing? Marek crouched on the edge of the trees with head cocked to the side. He gazed at the maiden in the water. If a war were to wage on behind him, he never would have noticed. A branch cracked under his weight as he moved closer.

Stunned, she stood facing him. His eyes burned into her flesh as they followed the shapely lines of her pose. Brynn plunged into the water. Surfacing, she screeched at him, “Turn away!” She rushed to the embankment and quickly dressed.

Not sure in which direction to turn, Marek bowed his head, pivoted on his heels, and climbed back up the embankment to fetch his horse. “Please, don’t run,” he warned. “I’m not up for a chase today.” He towered over her from atop his large black mount, offering his hand. “Just take my hand.”

~~~~

Those eyes. They stared at her with such earnest honesty.

How could she do anything but accept his offer? Marek grasped her wrist and lifted her to the saddle. For a moment she sat facing him with her legs wrapped around him, straddling so close she could feel his breath against her cheek. She wanted to touch him, to trace the lines of his roughhewn jaw — wanted to feel his lips against hers once more. She yearned for him to brush his fingers against her skin, to make her body quiver the way it had the night he’d first touched her, when he so gently tended to her wounds. How could she have such sinful feelings about the man who had sealed her fate?

Why did the gods curse her so?

The horse on which they rode jerked its head high, flaring its nostrils and snorting. Wrapping her arms tightly around Marek to remain steady, all thoughts of sin drifted from her mind when a familiar voice floated by on a breeze.

“
Marek
!”

Pulling the reins taught, Marek swung Brynn to the back of his saddle. With a kick, the horse whipped around then burst forward. They darted between trees, over rocks and roots with effortless skill as Ronan’s urgent call filled the air.

Upon finding Marek, Ronan leaped from his horse. Word spewed from his mouth. “Marek! Riders… from the south. They have found us.”

“How many?” Marek asked.

“Ten… maybe more.”

The brothers switched their words to Archaean and Brynn could understand them no more. She could sense the nervousness and severity of the situation by the low tone of Marek’s voice. Her heart quickened with every strange word they spoke.

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

Marek hushed her with a wave of his hand.

Turning his attention to Brynn, Marek cinched an arm around her middle and dropped her to the ground before dismounting.

“
Ouch
!” she cried, landing on a rock. Brynn staggered to her feet. What was wrong? “
Marek
…” She grasped him by his shoulder. He was too busy digging through the leather satchels on his saddle and talking with his brother to pay her any attention. Not getting a response, she tugged again. This time he turned toward her.

“What in hell do you need, woman?” He withdrew a long sword from the saddle’s blanket roll. He spun it full circle with a flick of his wrist, parting the air with ease.

Brynn stumbled backward, tripping over her skirts and unleashing a frightened scream. He was going to kill her. Terrified, she buried her face in the moss-covered ground and trembled, but the fatal deathblow didn’t come. Peering between the crevasse of her arm and the ground, she noticed Marek was busily buckling his back scabbard across his chest.

He smiled down at her and winked, adjusting it to its proper place. Marek pulled the sword from the scabbard and gave the blade another full swing before sliding it back into its sheath and pulling more leather from his bags. While strapping a baldric across his chest, he muttered a few words to her. Not receiving an answer, he turned to her with eyes narrowed.

“I don’t understand what you are saying!” She pouted, returning to her feet with a frustrating sigh. “You speak to me as if I should know, but I do not!”

“It would be wise to learn.” Marek shoved his dagger under his belt and continued to dig through another satchel.

“When would that be? In my leisure time?” she quipped, placing a hand on her hip. As Brynn brushed stray hairs from her face, she realized Ronan, too, had donned his armor and weaponry.

~~~~

Marek turned to his brother, addressing him in their native tongue. “How much time, Ronan?” he pressed.

Ronan wiped his brow. “If we don’t find a way out of this valley we will be slaughtered for sure.”

“And the others?”

“They will be here. They must have tracked her, Marek.”

“How is your arm?” Marek asked his brother.

“Still attached.” Ronan winced while sliding his wounded arm through the hole of his leather brigantine. Strapping the vest tight on the sides, he pounded his chest with his fist.

“Can you fight?”

“We’ll find out soon enough.” Ronan checked the clasp on his greaves.

As Marek buckled a leather arm guard, his thoughts turned to Brynn. He had to hide her somehow, keep her out of reach of the riders. But how? There were no walls, no strongholds — just trees and sticks. And certainly no time. Irritated, he rubbed his palm over his hair. He winced slightly as he brushed over the fresh bruise from the rock. He looked at Brynn. “That really hurt.”

She averted her eyes, toeing the dirt.

In all honesty, he was left with a sore head and a bruised ego — nothing everlasting. How foolish he was to let her run off in the rain. Damn his stupid pride. Now they faced a nightmare of a battle because of his haughty arrogance. Marek closed his eyes, gathering his wits. To survive he needed to focus — absolute concentration. He couldn’t possibly fight well with her safety consuming his thoughts. Hoofbeats in the distance grew louder. He paused, counting the thrumming. His men were approaching.

The battle would soon begin.