Blood Lust (6 page)

Benjamin waved the other man’s words away. “In the scheme of things, whether or not he taps her is hardly important.” Though the thought of being thwarted by a common thief sent a shot of fury through him. “What counts is that we find her, and soon. I can’t keep her brother stashed away forever. In the meanwhile, there is the wedding. Time is ticking away.”

Frederick stood and turned toward his friend. “I won’t fail you.”

“I’m certain you won’t.” In truth, Benjamin believed the man’s promise. Frederick was a loyal as a hound. There was nothing the man wouldn’t do for him.

It was the exact result he had intended.

“Bring her back and you’ll find a nice fat purse of guineas waiting for you.”

Frederick made no answer. Unlike Benjamin, money meant little to him.

Benjamin watched him leave and felt a jolt of satisfaction thinking it the best sort of bondage he could imagine to imprison the man.

Another day passed. William brought the curry comb through his horse’s thick black mane, using the task to take his mind off the girl inside the lodge. His head still throbbed whenever he moved too quickly. He couldn’t believe he had fallen prey to her scheme.

Once, a few years ago Jane had unmanned him in much the same manner. She had nearly been the death of him. And yet the circumstances were nothing the same. Katherine had not betrayed him, hadn’t pretended feelings for him she did not have. She wasn’t in cahoots with the devil in the form of his conscienceless brother. She wasn’t after control of his fortune.

She was simply trying to escape. She was fighting to save herself from a man who posed an unknown threat, a man whose intentions she could not guess to what end for her he might have planned.

In the same set of circumstances, would he not react the same way?

In truth, as he had said, he admired her for the courage to take action. Other women would have swooned at the sight of him riding full tilt toward the fancy carriage. Most of them would have dissolved into tears to see him firing his pistols above their heads.

Katherine had done neither. She had sacrificed herself for the safety of the others. And then she had fought him with every ounce of her being.

She was too much woman for his murderous brother and in the past few hours he had determined the bastard would not have her. She deserved to make a decent marriage. Once she was free of the duke, she could find a respectable husband, a man befitting a woman of spirit and fire.

He glanced to the door of the house and a reluctant smile came across his face. He wondered what, even now, she was planning, for he didn’t believe that she had given up trying to thwart him. She would not succeed. Of that he was certain. He had too much at stake to fail at the hands of a girl.

The smile on his face grew broader. Considering the lump he carried on the side of his head, he found himself oddly eager to see where next her courage might lead him.

Katherine peered through the cracks between the boards of the window of her bedchamber. Her captor remained in the stable. Her captor, that was how she thought of him still. He was more handsome than she could imagine, so handsome, he took her breath away.

Katherine sighed. Whoever he was, he was still her opponent, a man she must outwit somehow. It wouldn’t be easy, as she had already discovered, but if it could be done, she was determined to find a way.

Bearing that in mind, she eased the bottom drawer of the dresser closed, disgruntled that she hadn’t found anything useful inside.

An old wooden chest sat along one wall. She crossed the room and knelt in front of it. She wasn’t afraid he would catch her. She could hear him if he returned to the house, and even if he came upstairs, he had made no effort so far to invade the privacy of her bedchamber.

The chest creaked as she lifted the lid. A tray of sewing items, a ball of wool not yet spun, needles fashioned from the antlers of a deer, several lengths of simple undyed woolen cloth. Nothing there to aid her. She lifted the tray off and searched a portion of the chest below. Medicinal supplies, strips of bleached muslin for bandages, several jars of salve. She pried the lid of one of the jars, then wrinkled her nose at the smell of the rancid salve.

Several more packets of herbs lay in the bottom. She opened one of the, recognized the smell of dried nettles, opened another and frowned. It was a type of fungus found in the woods, a narcotic plant that was often crushed into a powder and mixed with mulled wine as a sleeping potion. She had been shown by her cook to fashion such a draught for her brother, when the occasional need arose.

A obscure thought teased the back of her mind. She tried to shake it off, but it wouldn’t let go, turning instead into a full-fledged notion. She had vowed not to hurt him, but how hurtful would it be if he simply fell into a deep and relaxing sleep?

In time he would awaken and by then she would be gone. She grinned and clutched the packet to her chest. They took their main meal mid afternoon. Earlier, the stable boy had brought some mutton pasties, some Stilton cheese and a flask of wine. Wrapped in a cloth, the food and wine sat on a table beside the hearth.

She glanced once more out the window. No sign of the bandit. Placing the packet of herbs on the floor, she crushed them to a powder with a slippered foot. She then pounded them even finer with a heavy mug that sat beside the water bowl and pitcher on the dresser.

As soon as she had finished, she headed downstairs. The flask of wine sat exactly where the boy had left it. She pulled the stopper out and started to pour in the powder, but her hand stopped.

How much was she to put in?

He was a big man. It would take a good portion, but he never consumed more than a goblet or two of wine. As far as she knew, the powder wasn’t deadly. She dumped in the entire contents of the packet, then replaced the stopper and shook the flask until she figured the mixture had been dissolved.

Footsteps sounded outside just as she finished. She whirled away from the hearth and rushed to sit on the sofa, grabbing a book she was suppose to have been reading, and buried her nose in the pages, hoping the guilty flush in her cheeks wouldn’t give her away.

The bandit paused in the doorway, eyeing her for a moment, then stepped into the room and closed the door. She forced herself not to glance up at him as he approached.

“Defoe? I thought you were reading Shakespeare.”

Her heart began racing. How could she have forgotten? She feigned a weary sigh. “In truth, he does not hold my attention. All I can think of is how much longer must I stay locked up inside?” That remark seemed to satisfy his suspicions.

“Sorry.” A corner of his mouth curved up. “Think of it as respite from the heavy responsibilities you’ll be facing as the wife of a duke.”

Katherine tossed back her hair. “I’ll have a hundred servants at my beck and call. I imagine I shall be able to suffer through it.”

The bandit scowled.

She set the book down and looked into his handsome face. “You will at least tell me your name?”

He said nothing for a moment, and she didn’t think he would answer. Her heart raced as he moved toward the table where the wine sat. He unwrapped the food and began to set it out. He looked at her. “William,” he said. “My name is William.”

Katherine smiled. “William,” she repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue. It had a softness to it that didn’t fit his persona. “Not an outlaw’s name, but in a way it suits you.”

William said nothing, just stacked two plates with food and poured them each a goblet of wine. She accepted the food and wine and carried it over to the sofa and sat down. She nibbled at her food, her stomach rumbled. She pretended to sip the wine, careful not to swallow a single drop.

He polished off his plate and downed his wine, poured a second goblet and drank it down. When he refilled his glass a third time, she became tense.

“My, you’re certainly thirsty today.”

He looked down at the glass, then at her. “You fear I’ll get drunk and ravish you? You may trust that I will not.” He finished the contents of the goblet. “Rest assured, my lady, a few glasses of wine will not turn me into a ravening beast.” But he blinked even as he said the words and the glass came sluggishly back to rest on the table.

Katherine watched him, saw his large frame sag down in the chair beside the low-burning fire. He stared into the embers, the wine was forgotten, her presence seemingly forgotten as well. It was actually working!

The minutes slipped past. Little by little, his eyes began to close and Katherine’s pulse began to hammer even faster. It was going to work. Her plan was actually going to work! His head slumped forward, sagging slowly toward his chest. Lower and lower, he sank in the chair, his body growing limp, the heavy muscles relaxing, his eyelids now completely closed.

Only a little while longer, she thought. Only a few minutes more and she could be away.

His head tipped forward, eased down until his chin came to rest on his chest. Katherine leaned forward as well, poised on the edge of the sofa, her heart pounding.

She was almost on her feet when William made a heavy lurch sideways then jerked upright. He blinked, blinked again, ran a hand over his face, the groggily turned in her direction.

The minute he did, his eyes read the guilt in her expression and he knew in an instant she was somehow responsible for his state.

“What did you do?” he roared, bolting to his feet. “For God’s sake woman, did you poison me?” Two long strides and he had her, his large hand clamping around her wrist.

She tried to break free, but his hold was like iron. “No! I would not do such a thing. You are not going to die. It’s simply a sleeping potion. It isn’t going to hurt you, you will merely fall asleep!”

He staggered and almost fell, but he didn’t let go of her wrist. “Vixen!” he shouted. He staggered a few steps closer to the fire, then his hand shot out and he grasped the leather thong that had held the cloth tied around the food.

“What are you doing?” She shrieked as he jerked her against him, wrapped the thong around her wrist and his own, and tied it tight. Clumsily, he poured a measure of wine over the knot to soak the leather then jerked it even tighter.

“I may be sleeping, but you may rest assured that while I am, you will not be leaving.” He staggered toward the sofa, meaning to lie down before he fell, but he didn’t make it that far. He caught her against him as his eyes rolled up. His knees buckled, and the two of them crashed to the floor, landing in a tangle of arms and legs, his weight atop her.

“Oh dear God.” She could hardly catch her breath. It took a considerable effort to move him the necessary length to allow her lungs to fill with air. It took a moment more to get her bearings. Her cheek was pinned against his shoulder, his thigh wedged intimately between her legs and a big callused hand lay on her breast. Long fingers curved around it, saved only from touching her skin by the barrier of her thin muslin blouse. The tip of a finger brushed her nipple.

The moment she felt it, her soft nipple hardened and she felt a unfamiliar, soft heat that slid into her belly. Dear God! She shifted herself, but could not move, and only succeeded in some of her more feminine parts being moved closer against his leg. One of her hands was tightly bound, but she could move the other. She lifted it slightly as she felt his shirt beneath her fingertips. A worse scenario she could not have planned. Hours of lying beneath him held her immobile. As the long minutes passed, a soft ache arose in one of her breasts, tempting her to press herself down more into his hand, one which was in a lower place.

Damn! What was the matter with her? How had she let this happen? By the time evening came around, his heavy weight had begun to take its toll. She was exhausted from trying to strain away from him, fighting to get free. Not sure how much longer she would be in this situation, she welcomed sleep. And though the fire had long gone out, she did not feel the cold of the night.

William stirred sometime during the night. His head was pounding, however he found his body strangely lethargic, except for one part.

He was hard. Hard as a rock, throbbing with the same pulsing that was coursing through his head. And for the first time in a long time, he felt his blood thirst awaken within him. He had had it under control for some time, but it was there. He recognized the urge. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, opening his eyes to look around. Sweet Jesus! He was on the floor! The room was dark and cold. He looked around the darkness, looking for her, frantic that she may have escaped. Then the afternoon came rushing back. He felt her underneath him even before he moved. Her skirt was hiked up and her legs apart under him, and saw that his hand held one of her breasts.

William groaned, his arousal becoming more intense, pressing into warmness between her legs. His body throbbed in response and quickly he got up on his knees, waking her with his movement. She blinked, looking into his face.

He smiled at her. “Enjoying your nap, my lady? I should have thought you would have preferred a bed.”

“You, you bastard!” She yelled, rolling away from him, only to be caught by the short coil of the leather around her wrist.

“Take it easy my lady. This was your misadventure, not mine.”

“You are blaming me? That it is my fault? Nothing that has happened is my fault. You are the one who abducted me!”