Teresa Medeiros (12 page)

It seemed a lifetime since he’d allowed himself to stroke a lass’s hair or draw her into his arms when she shivered. An eternity since he’d felt the alluring softness of a woman’s body against him.

Or beneath him.

He scowled, betrayed by the swift and devastating surge of lust in his groin. He’d never encountered a woman quite like this one. Regan had been sketched in ethereal shades of primrose and silver, easy to capture, yet impossible to hold. She’d flowed like summer rain through his hands until she was no more.

But this woman was no wraith to vanish before his eyes. She was warm and vibrant and solid to the touch.

He’d grown accustomed to looming over ladies who kept their heads meekly bowed and their hands cupped over their mouths to hide their shy smiles and crooked teeth.

But throughout the grueling day, he had only to turn his head and Tabitha was there, her pearly teeth flashing, her parted lips a breath away from his own.

Was it any wonder he hadn’t been able to resist kissing her in the cavern? That he’d yearned to discover if she tasted as intoxicating as she smelled—like sunshine and honeyed mead on a hot summer day? But that brief sip had only betrayed him by whetting his thirst.

He muttered an oath, then shot a silent prayer skyward, begging his Lord’s pardon for blaspheming.

In the brothels of Egypt, he’d encountered a multitude of women schooled in the arts of pleasure. Their pouting ruby lips and khol-lined eyes had promised erotic delights beyond any mere mortal’s imaginings. He’d seen stalwart knights break marriage oaths and risk eternal damnation for the fleeting privilege of being tangled in their jasmine-scented hair for one night of ecstasy.

Yet this odd woman with her bold speech and hacked-off hair stirred him as those exotic beauties never had.

He reached for a corner of the cloak, surprised to find his hand unsteady. He had no further reason to resist temptation. His crusade was done, his vow fulfilled, his penance paid. She would make no protest if he drew back the cloak and covered her body with his own. He would not be the first stranger to seek release between her milky thighs, nor would he be the last. Mummers were known for passing their women around like flagons of wine, sampling their sweetness until each had drunk their fill.

But Colin hesitated, his reluctance even more inexplicable than his lust. Her innocent slumber might be naught but another cunning illusion like the forgiveness she’d offered him, yet he was loath to disturb it. He surprised himself by gently tucking the cloak around her and retreating to his own side of the fire. Perhaps its flames would serve to remind him that a passion that burned too hot could bring destruction as well as pleasure.

CHAPTER
10

W
hen Tabitha awoke the next morning, the fire had died to ash and the knight was gone.

She scrambled to her feet in a blind panic, throwing aside the cloak that enveloped her. A gauzy mist enshrouded the clearing, giving it all the welcoming charm of a graveyard at midnight on Halloween. The pearly light drifting through the interwoven branches made it impossible to tell if it was dawn or noon.

A sleek head loomed out of the mist.

Tabitha clapped a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream before collapsing to her knees in relief. Sir Colin might abandon her, but she knew from the gentle way he handled the animal that he would never forsake his horse.

The stallion surveyed her with limpid brown eyes before lowering his head to a clump of moss. While Tabitha was fingering the woolen folds of the cloak, wondering how it had come to be wrapped around her with such care, Lucy toddled over to butt her in the thigh.

She scratched beneath the kitten’s chin, mocking Colin’s burr. “Did Prince Surly abandon ye? Or has he
gone on a quest fer a saucer o’ cream and a box o’ Tender Vittles fer his wee lassie?”

With the morning hush came a startling realization. For the first time since arriving in this wretched century, she was alone. Her heartbeat quickened. If she squandered this opportunity, there was no telling when or
if
the wary Scot would grant her another moment of privacy with the amulet.

She drew the emerald from her shirt. It made her nervous just to look at it, she’d grown so accustomed to bungling her every wish. She took one last look around the clearing, wondering what Colin would think when he returned to find her gone.

“Good riddance, most likely,” she whispered, ignoring a pang of regret. Perhaps for the first time in their lives, her parents needed her. A man like Colin never would.

Before she could lose her nerve, she snatched Lucy to her chest, gripped the amulet, and closed her eyes. “I wish …” She drew in a deep breath before, blurting out, “I wish I were home.”

A whisper of a breeze tickled her cheek. She opened one eye. The mist, the clearing, the grazing stallion all remained. She stole a quick glance around to make sure Colin hadn’t returned to watch her make an idiot of herself. But her only audience, aside from the horse and kitten, was the gnarled trees that looked suspiciously like the ones that had hurled the apples at Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
.

Thankful her mother couldn’t see her at that moment, Tabitha rose to her feet, clicked the heels of her chipmunk slippers together three times in quick succession, and mumbled, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”

“I’ll not argue the sentiment, lass. ’Tis a noble one indeed.”

Tabitha’s eyes flew open. Colin was leaning against a nearby tree, his amber-flecked eyes glittering with amusement. Drops of water beaded in the midnight-black of his chest hair, glistening like diamonds. With his damp hair slicked back from his face and the stubble shading his jaw darkening to a true beard, he looked more like a rapacious pirate than a noble knight.

Tabitha blushed and stammered, “I was p-p-practicing a dance.” To reinforce her fib, she shuffled her way through a clumsy soft shoe routine, ignoring Lucy’s violent squirming. “If I’m to find work with another troupe of mummers, I need to develop a new act.”

Colin pushed himself away from the tree and closed the distance between them. “I wouldn’t take up storytelling if I were you because you’re nearly as wretched a liar as you are a mummer.”

Oh, God, he knew, Tabitha thought. He knew she was just some pathetic no-talent enchantress from the twenty-first century. Lucy wiggled out of her grip and darted for freedom, but Tabitha stood her ground, even when Colin gently pried open her fingers to reveal the amulet.

“You stole it, did you not?”

“What?”

He nodded toward the emerald. “The necklace. You stole it. ’Tis why the mummers cast you out. They’re too dependent on the goodwill of the nobles to tolerate petty thievery among their ranks. Did they punish you by chopping off your hair in that atrocious manner?”

Frowning, Tabitha touched a hand to her hair. The blunt bob had cost her over two hundred dollars at Henri Bendel’s on Fifth Avenue.

He surprised her by sifting a sandy lock through his fingers, his gaze compassionate, almost tender. “You’re fortunate ’twas only your hair and not your hand, lass. Your hair will grow back.”

Thankful to him for providing her with such a rich, if felonious, history, Tabitha lowered her lashes, struggling to look suitably contrite. “I never meant to take the necklace, sir. I’d just never seen anything quite so pretty.” She cringed, deciding the faux British accent was a bad idea. It made her sound like the illegitimate child of Eliza Doolittle and Dr. Doolittle.

Colin tugged gently on the amulet. “These woods are crawling with outlaws and thieves. Perhaps ’twould be best if you gave it to me for safekeeping.”

“No!” she nearly shouted, backing away until the chain was pulled taut between them. “It’s mine. I’ve already paid the price for stealing it so I should be allowed to keep it.”

He chose to ignore her absurd logic. “I’m not robbing you. I’ll return your treasure to you when I deem it fitting.”

Panic gripped Tabitha. She might not get home
with
the amulet, but she’d certainly never get home
without
it. But she didn’t want her protests to heighten his suspicions. “Oh, yeah? What if you decide to give it to some buxom serving wench instead? Or pawn it so you can buy yourself a new sword.” Against her will, her gaze darted to his naked chest, her throat going dry. “Or a new shirt.”

He narrowed his eyes, warning her that she had finally succeeded in exasperating him. Wrapping the delicate chain around his fist, he reeled her in until her face was an unsteady breath away from his own. The muscles corded in his sun-bronzed forearm reminded her what a powerful man he was. He could take the amulet
if he wished. He could take whatever he wanted from her without her consent and there was nothing she could do to stop him. The realization made her breathless.

“I’ll return the bauble to you, lass. I said I would and I meant it.”

“Swear it,” she whispered, hoping she wasn’t pressing her luck.

“Very well,” he growled. “You have my oath on it.”

Tabitha hesitated, searching his eyes. Given his obsession with honor, she could believe he would honor his vow.

Still holding her gaze, he freed the chain and held out his hand.

Drawing the necklace over her head, she dropped it into his hand. She felt a twinge of despair as his fingers closed around it. He’d just gained more leverage over her than she’d ever allowed any man.

He pointed a chiding finger at her, adding insult to injury. “I won’t have you stealing from my people. They’ve suffered enough at Brisbane’s hands. If you accept my hospitality, you’ll abide by my laws or you’ll answer to me.” His stern gaze warned her that there was far more at stake than just a few paltry inches of hair.

“Yes, sir,” she bit off. Tabitha Lennox wasn’t accustomed to taking orders from anyone, especially not some down-on-his-luck Lancelot wannabe.

Satisfied with her promise, he tucked the amulet into the waistband of his breeches and sauntered over to the horse.

Tabitha glared at his back. “You needn’t act so morally superior, you know. You did steal the Scot-Killer’s dagger.”

He flashed her a roguish grin as he draped the narrow
saddle over the stallion’s back. “Aye, lass, but not before making sure he’d have no further need of it.”

By noon of that day, Tabitha was entertaining gleeful fantasies of burying Sir Orrick’s dagger between a certain Scotsman’s shoulder blades. Especially after he insisted they walk for long, tedious stretches to keep from tiring the poor horse.

“Poor horse couldn’t be any more tired than me,” Tabitha mumbled, trudging through a streambed. The rubber soles of her slippers sucked at the muck, darkening the chipmunks’ rubbery grins to thunderous scowls.

She supposed she had no one to blame for her misery but herself. They’d come to a standoff that morning when Colin had tried to slip off the horse, leaving her astride. Tabitha had dismounted so quickly she’d nearly ended up straddling his broad shoulders.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she protested as he lowered her to the ground. “I’m not riding Pegasus here all by myself. You can ride and I’ll walk.”

“I can’t ride while a woman walks. ’Twouldn’t be chivalrous.”

Neither relented, so it seemed they were both going to walk all the way to Colin’s castle with the stallion prancing merrily along behind them, an indolent Lucy his only passenger. Each time they crested a hill, Tabitha would crane her neck, hoping desperately to find a replica of Sleeping Beauty’s castle silhouetted against the horizon.

She had paused for the dozenth time to poke her head through a break in the foliage when Colin wrapped the elastic at the waistband of her pajama bottoms around his fist and hauled her back. “What ails you, woman? If
you insist on dawdling, we won’t make Ravenshaw lands until midnight.”

“Midnight?” Tabitha echoed faintly.

“Aye. ’Tis another half day’s journey before we reach Castle Raven.”

Swallowing a mournful sigh, Tabitha plodded along behind him, regretting that she hadn’t made more use of the electronic treadmill tucked away in a corner of her walk-in closet. The sun bore down on her face, baking her tender skin and blinding her with its glare. She’d spent so much of her life squinting at a blinking cursor in a darkened office that she felt like a mole emerging from its tunnel.

She should have never let Colin believe she was a felon. He kept stealing wary glances over his shoulder, as if he expected her to ambush him and wrest the amulet from his pants. She hoped he would relax his vigilance once they arrived at his castle. Without the amulet to control her magic, she feared it would only be a matter of time before she muttered some absentminded wish that would destroy them both.

When Colin half turned, those forbidding brows nearly meeting over his eyes, her frayed nerves finally snapped. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, would you stop glowering at me! I’m a petty thief, not a serial killer. I’ve no intention of—”

He touched a finger to his lips. “Hush, lass,” he whispered urgently.

That was when she realized he wasn’t gazing at her at all, but at something just over her left shoulder. Her nape began to prickle. She’d been so preoccupied with her own misery that she’d nearly forgotten they were being pursued by a homicidal maniac with an army of thugs at his disposal. Perhaps one of Brisbane’s men had been more cunning than Colin had anticipated and was
even now crouched in the bushes with an arrow pointed at her back. A feeble squeak escaped her.