Hunter's Woman (13 page)

She frowned, wondering why no one else was about, but then remembered that most of the villagers had gone out to search for the tolk pack.  God alone knew how many had returned, or in what condition, but she could not allow that to concern her.  She had her own survival to consider.

She glanced around.  New snow had fallen during the night, making it difficult to discern the tracks from the night before, but it appeared that Algar had headed north.  She was tempted to head south, but thought that might be too predictable.  Kale had told her the soldiers had tracked the tolk pack in a wide circle that seemed to be heading back toward Krackensled … which meant going west was out, since there was too much danger of running into the soldiers.

She decided to head east, but just in case Kale got it into his head to follow her, she turned south when she left the cottage, following the main road until she found a cross road that was almost as well traveled. 

It took her almost an hour to reach the forest east of town.  To her relief, she encountered no one, but she was still a mass of nerves before she reached the tree line.  There she waged another, brief, inner debate.  She could make better progress if she followed the road.  The snow was almost as high, and worse, it had been churned up by the passing of several carts, but there were no deep drifts to worry about, no possibility of stepping inadvertently into a trough. 

If anyone came to look for her, however, she would be all too easy to spot and have no hope of escape.  She left the road and entered the forest, struggling through soft snow that came almost to her knees.  She was sweating with effort and breathless even before she had traveled far enough that she could no longer see the village.  She glanced up at the weak sun, trying to gauge the amount of time that had passed and saw that the sun was already high in the trees.

Cursing, she forced herself to move faster, refusing to stop to rest, but only slowing when she was so winded she could hardly catch her breath.  She began scanning the forest ahead of her, choosing a landmark that looked to be a quarter of a mile, or a half a mile away, and then counting her miles as she reached them.  By the time the sun was overhead she thought she had gone at least five miles, but it was a rather dismal projection.  A man on a kirkin could travel that distance, even in the snow, in less than a quarter of the time it had taken her.

She stopped, briefly, to eat a few bites of cheese, bread and meat, washing them down with the remains of the bottle of wine she and Kale had shared the night before.  There was hardly enough to make it worth the effort of having carried the bottle, but it helped to chase the chill from her bones. 

When she’d finished, she dug a hole in the snow, buried the bottle and carefully smoothed the snow over it again.  She glanced back over the trail she’d left behind her when she’d finished, realizing that she might as well have saved her strength.  She’d left a trail behind her that a blind man could follow.  Kale was a huntsman.  Were he so inclined, he would have no difficulty whatsoever in tracking her down. 

Tired as she was, she looked around until she found a fallen branch and began to work her way backwards, smoothing over her footsteps as she went.  It took her twice as long to manage half the distance she had traveled earlier.  Her back began to feel as if it was going to crack and break in two, but she persevered until she thought she had traveled at least two miles, then changed directions and began to move in a south easterly direction.

By late afternoon Aslyn felt she had put sufficient distance between herself and Krackensled to consider stopping for the night.  In truth, she was afraid she had little choice in the matter.  It was the time of the dark of the moon.  If she had been traveling by road, the stars might have shed enough light that she could have kept going, but she had elected to take to the forest.  Granted, many of the trees were bare, but it was an old forest and the trees were huge, growing closely together with branches intertwining overhead.

She would have to build a fire.  It was far too cold even to consider doing without one, regardless of the dangers inherent in doing so.  While she trudged through the snow, she’d had no difficulty staying warm, but once she stopped she would begin to freeze without one ...  unless she was fortunate enough to discover an unoccupied burrow or den she could squeeze into.

Hopefulness surged through her when she came upon a steep slope above a frozen stream.  Like any natural stream, it meandered, but it ran in a general north/south direction.  Cautiously, she made her way down to the surface of the stream and began to follow the bank south, studying the banks for any sign of a cave or even a crevice deep enough to offer some shelter.  She was so intent upon her search that it was some moments before the rhythmic sound she heard fully registered as being one not of her own making.

Kirkin hooves. 

Aslyn froze, turned her head to determine the direction and discovered that there was a rider bearing down on her.  Despite the dimness of approaching dusk, despite the distance, she knew the moment she spotted him that it was Kale … and he had spotted her.

Her heart lurched in her chest.  For several moments, she couldn’t seem to force her panicked mind to react.  Finally, however, the rhythmic pounding formed in her brain as the word ‘run, run, run.’  Looking wildly around, she realized the only possibility she had of escaping was to climb the bank.  As steep and as slippery as it was, she felt certain the kirkin would not be able to climb it and, if Kale had to find another place to climb the bank she would have time to hide.

The moment the idea formed in her mind, she tossed her burdens aside and climbed for all she was worth.  When she finally managed to reach the top, she paused long enough to catch her breath and to spare a glance to see if Kale had spotted her escape.

To her horror, she saw that Kale, instead of following the stream until he reached the point where she’d climbed up, had urged the kirkin off the stream the moment she left it … and the kirkin was climbing the bank like a mountain goat.  Spurred by the certainty of instant capture, Aslyn took off through the trees at her best speed. 

It took Kale all of five minutes to run her down.  She felt the heat from the kirkin a split second before Kale leaned from its back and snatched her off her feet, plunking her across his lap.

She kicked her feet, trying to wiggle off, whereupon Kale dealt her half frozen rump a ringing spank.

Aghast, she went perfectly still for about two seconds before it fully sank into her mind that he’d had the unmitigated gall to spank her.  She struggled to lift her head and gave him her best ‘I’ll kill you’ look. 

Unfortunately, the evil look he was giving her frightened her considerably more than hers, apparently, did him. 

“Going somewhere?” he asked in a cold, tight voice.

He grasped her then, lifting her until she was sitting before him on the saddle, instead of lying face down over it.  She scowled at him.  “I am.”

They glared at each other for a full minute in a silent battle of wills.  “Indeed you are, but not where you think,” Kale said finally. 

He turned the kirkin then without another word and kicked it into motion. 

Aslyn gasped as the kirkin lurched forward, grasping frantically for something to hold on to.  She needn’t have worried.  Kale held her tightly against his chest with one arm.

“Put me down this instant!” she demanded when she’d recovered sufficiently from her fear of falling to manage it. 

“No.”

Aslyn turned to look at him in disbelief.  “Why?”

He took his gaze from the path long enough to focus a cold, narrow eyed glare upon her.  “Because Algar wants you.  You cannot run fast enough, or far enough, to escape him.”

Rather than frightening her as she supposed had been his intention, his words wounded her to the quick.  She looked away, determined not to allow him to see the hurt in her eyes.

It was not, after all, as if she could have failed to know that Algar wanted her, or that Algar would certainly try to track her down.  Although Kale could not have known that Algar had admitted to her that he’d been searching for her ever since she’d fled her home, he must surely know she was not so stupid as to think Algar would suddenly decide to stop pursuing her, only because she had shown herself unwilling.

It hurt, though, to realize Kale’s only interest in, or concern for her was in using her to trap Algar.

She didn’t trust herself to speak for some time afterward, fearful that she would find a warble in her voice, or worse, burst into tears.  By the time Krackensled had come into sight, she had recovered sufficiently from her hurt to be angry once more but also to realize that, as compelling as her reasons for leaving were, she could not voice them, and even she was obliged to admit that any lie she might come up with could only sound weak and foolish.

He had no right to hold her against her will.  The king had not sent him to harass innocent travelers, but to track down and slaughter the tolks wreaking so much havoc on the populace.  However, she was in no position, unfortunately, to demand release, or, more accurately, to enforce her demands. 

They left his kirkin at the livery near the center of town and walked the remainder of the distance to the cottage.  Any hope Aslyn had that he might simply escort her there and leave were dashed immediately.

He opened the door, ushered her in, and immediately closed and bolted the door behind them.  In truth, Aslyn was barely even aware of his actions.  She thought for several moments that he’d brought her to the wrong cottage.

The packed dirt floor had been covered, virtually every square inch of it, with carpets.  Two high backed, overstuffed chairs had been set before the hearth.  A small table between them held a silver candelabra with a half a dozen burning tapers.  In the place where the rickety table had sat, stood a handsome, gleaming oak table and two matching oak chairs.  A screen behind the table partially blocked her view of the bed, but she saw the narrow bed that had been destroyed in the scuffle had been replaced by a wider one with an elaborately carved foot board. 

She turned to look at Kale questioningly and saw that he had discarded his tunic.  He advanced upon her, a purposeful look in his eyes.  Startled, Aslyn took a step back, lifting her hands to hold him off.  He ignored the weak defense.  Scooping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed, he dropped her in the middle of it.  Aslyn bounded upright as he sat on the edge and proceeded to remove his boots. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, more than a little stunned.

He stood up and began removing his breeches.  “Something I should have done long ago.”

Aslyn’s eyes widened as he pushed the breeches from his hips, her gaze focusing of its own accord on the swollen male member jutting from the thatch of hair low on his belly.  Heat suffused her as she stared at it.  Her heart commenced a frantic tattoo against her chest wall, making her breath short and fast. 

She moistened her dry lips.  “But….”

Grasping the neck of her gown, he ripped the ancient, thread bare fabric from neck to waist as if it were no more than paper.  Aslyn gasped in shock, staring down at her exposed shift, worn to the point that it was virtually transparent.  As he reached for her last defense, she scurried away.  The rending sound of tearing cloth told her, however, even if the sudden, chill kiss of air had not, that she had not successfully eluded him.  Clutching the tatters of her clothing, Aslyn scrambled to the far back of the bed, glancing wildly around for an avenue of escape.  The bed was wedged into a corner, however, leaving two sides blocked by walls, a third by Kale. 

She leapt for the foot of the bed at the same moment that Kale leapt toward her.  He caught her around the waist, dragging her back. 

She placed her palms against his chest.  “What are you doing?  Why?”

He grasped her arms, forcing them to the bed on either side of her head.  “Claiming what is mine … what has always been mine.”

A strange mixture of anger and desire rushed through her at his words, at the look in his eyes.  “You’re no better than Algar,” she said coldly.

Something flickered in his eyes.  For several moments, she thought he would release her and withdraw, instead, after that brief hesitation, he lowered himself until his bare chest was resting against her breasts, until his mouth hovered mere inches from her own. 

Aslyn stared up at him, her gaze focusing upon his hard mouth, and something warm and liquid flowed through her, washing the anger away, leaving only the desire.  She had wondered from the first moment she’d seen him what it would feel like to be desired by him, kissed, and caressed.  She lifted her lips to him in mute appeal.

He swallowed, his gaze flickering to hers momentarily before he closed the gap between them and pressed his mouth to hers.  Fire flooded her at the first touch of his lips.  She opened her mouth to him, conquering even as she surrendered. 

A shudder ran through him as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting her essence, exploring, touching off currents of liquid fire that flooded her belly with molten flame, raced through her veins, bringing her whole body into sizzling life.  She wrapped her arms around him, unaware, and uncaring of when he’d ceased to hold her captive. 

She ran her hands along his back, exploring every inch of him that she could reach, even as he explored her body with his hands.