Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] (8 page)

“I will not leave you here, benighted and freezing and wet,” he said just as firmly, willing his own body not to shiver in the cold. “And I will not give up my prize so easily.”

“Then it is just as well your father died before you could be knighted, for you do not deserve that honor.”

He stiffened as if he had turned to stone, then reached out and hauled her close, so that he could see her face despite the darkness. “Listen to me, my lady, and listen well. Do not ever again presume to tell me how an honorable person behaves. You played my father like he was a lovesick lad and betrayed him. You were his promised wife, by your own word, and you let another man love you.” He put his other arm around her, so that he held her to him in a strong embrace. “Do you think to move me with your talk of honor and knighthood? That is gone from me forever, and you helped make it so. I was willing to overlook your part in it, except to make you the object of the ransom, but so help me, my lady, if you do not stop this foolishness and try to escape again, I will… I will…”

“What?” she demanded, arching her back to get as far away from him as she could, still defiant, still bold. “What will you do? Kill me?”

He shook his head, and in the darkness of the night, with her in his arms, longing exploded within him. “I do not want your death, my lady. I would have you alive. Very much alive.”

He captured her mouth in another fiery kiss. Need and passion combined with his anger to create an even fiercer hunger.

With a curse that would have made a soldier blush, she shoved him back and turned to run again.

With a curse of his own, he caught her by the waist, the blood still throbbing through his body, hotter than a smith’s forge.

“Kiss me again and I’ll kill you!” she cried, her shout rousing the birds in the nearby tree. “Touch me again and I’ll… I’ll strangle you!”

“Do not tempt me to see if you could succeed, my lady,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp. “Or perhaps I should let you try.”

He resisted the urge to cup her breast in response to her challenge although he could easily imagine the soft weight of her, warm in his palm, his thumb brushing across her pebbled nipple. Instead, he stroked her cheek.

“Well?” he asked softly as she stood motionless. “I have touched you again. Why don’t you try to strangle me?”

“I have reconsidered.”

Her placid tone astonished him. “Have you finally given up?” he asked, not willing to believe that was true.

“I will not give you the satisfaction of a struggle.”

“Then you have surrendered.”

She gave him a look of utter scorn. “To you? Never.”

Wherever she got her astonishing courage, he had had enough of Lady Allis—her words, her haughty manner, her reminders of his detested parent, even the desire she inspired—and they had lingered too long in this place as it was.

His hand grasping her right arm, he started back toward the ship, all but dragging her. When she stumbled and nearly fell, he tugged her close, then put his arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms. She was trembling, either from cold or fear or both, and surely she could have no strength left—

Kicking, she pushed hard against him.

Was there no end to the ways she could try his patience? “I can go faster carrying you, my lady,” he said grimly, ignoring her kicks and slaps. “It will be this way, or over my shoulder, as I did before. You choose.”

Held captive in his arms, shivering and exhausted, Isabelle wanted to tell him to go to the devil. But in truth, she was freezing and at the end of her strength. She could not walk another step, and although she would rather take her chances of dying from exposure, he was not going to leave her. She had no choice but to let him carry her back to that ship.

In silent acceptance of the inevitable, she put her arm around his neck to steady herself and tried not to notice how the warmth from his body warmed her, too. She would not think of that heated kiss even if she had sensed more of yearning in him than domination or control. Alexander DeFrouchette was her enemy, and there could be no forgiveness for what he had done.

“O
h, thank God! Thank God you’ve got her! She’s not dead, is she?” Osburn cried from the bow of the ship when he spotted Alexander trudging toward the river, his prize limp in his arms.

She had been like that since they had left the stand of trees, her arm lightly about his neck, her head against his chest. The slow rising and falling of her breasts made him wonder if she had fallen asleep from sheer fatigue.

He tried not to notice how good she felt in his arms, as if she belonged there. That was surely as false a notion as her apparent surrender when she lay beneath him, when she had been lulling him into carelessness.

And how she had! The sensation of her lips against his had immediately made his plan, the ship, the ransom—everything except her—recede from his mind. She was everything he had ever yearned for, and everything he could ever desire. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and when she seemed to be responding, or at least no longer fighting, he had never known such pleasure and excitement.

All a sham, of course. His mind could not blame her; indeed, he could almost admire the strategy. But despite the pleasure, in his heart he wished he had never touched her. It would have been better not to have a taste of the forbidden fruit of a noblewoman’s lips and body beneath him—especially hers. He already had enough cause to envy Sir Connor.

As for what she was doing now, if she was not really asleep, he wouldn’t be surprised to discover she was merely resting while planning another escape. What her plot might be, or when she might act upon it he couldn’t begin to fathom, but he would never underestimate her again.

Either way, he was pleased to note that she was no longer trembling, and he felt warmer, too.

“Why don’t you answer?” Osburn called out. “Is she dead or not?”

“She is not dead,” he answered, speaking only as loudly as he thought necessary for Osburn to hear him. There seemed to be no habitation around them, but surely it was not wise to shout.

The lady’s arm tightened about his neck, and she slowly raised her head, perhaps in answer to Osburn’s questions, or because he had awakened her. “I can walk the rest of the way. Put me down.”

It was not a request but a command, and he immediately tightened his hold on her. “No. If you do not like your method of conveyance, my lady, you have only yourself to blame, for this is the only way I can be certain you won’t run again.”

Her voice dropped to a low whisper, intimate in the darkness. “Allow me a little dignity in front of Osburn and those Vikings.”

“You did not stand upon your dignity when you went over the side of the Norseman’s ship.”

Her voice became softer yet. “Please.”

It had been a very long time since a woman had whispered in his ear. The last had been his mother, telling him again and again who his father was and how great a man and how they must be prepared for his return, which would surely be soon. That he must try very hard to be worthy. Even as the months and years had passed, every night it was the same deluded litany.

This woman, unlike his mother, was proud. He could admire that pride, for he had seen what a lack of it could do. If he were in her place, might he not appreciate any consideration that allowed him to retain some self-respect?

But he was reluctant to do as she asked. She certainly couldn’t run if he was carrying her.

Yet surely she must be too weary to try to escape again, and so tired that he could catch her again if she did.

He halted and let her slide to the ground, trying to ignore the pleasure of her body brushing against his. He fought not to notice the sensation of her shift riding up, knowing her long, slim legs must be exposed. He steeled himself against the sensation of her breasts moving slowly down his naked chest. He pressed his lips together to prevent himself from kissing her again.

She was an object of trade and nothing more. She could never be anything more. He would not throw away the plan and all it was to accomplish because of a wayward, fleeting desire, no matter how powerful it seemed. Desire did not last, and it left only anguish in its wake.

When she was steady on the ground, she lifted her brilliant eyes and gazed at him steadily. “Thank you.”

Her simple words struck at the wall around his lonely heart. But they could not do more than dent it, for it was of ancient making and strengthened by a bitterness no woman’s words softly spoken could overcome. “For your own safety, I want your promise as the wife of Connor of Bellevoire that you will not try to escape again.”

Wrapping her arms about her body, she nodded. “You have my word as the wife of Connor of Bellevoire that I will never try to escape from you again.”

“What are you waiting for?” Osburn demanded from his place in the bow. “Get her aboard.”

“You are summoned,” she said evenly.

She made it sound as if he were Osburn’s lackey.

Scowling, he followed her as she carefully waded out into the river toward the ship floating a few feet from the bank. The Norsemen’s oars were still in the water, holding it as steady as possible. Ingar waited at the side of the ship, and another man held the tiller. Not surprisingly, Ingar looked furiously angry.

Once she was at the side, Alexander came behind her to lift her into the ship, but she gave him a warning look over her slender shoulder.

“I will not have you put your hands on me again.”

Her words were like another slap, one of many she had given him this day. But this one hurt the most, and it mended whatever breech in his self-defense her whispered request had made.

Ingar snorted with disgust. “Lift your arms, woman,” he ordered.

She obeyed, and with no sharp retort. Ingar hauled her, dripping, onto the deck, paying no heed to her once she was on board.

“You, into the ship,” he said just as brusquely to Alexander.

As Alexander clambered inside, aided by two of Ingar’s crew, the Norseman jerked his thumb at Osburn. “This one has probably roused the entire countryside with his lamenting and shouting. I did not come here to be killed.” He glared at Isabelle. “No woman is worth this much trouble,” he grumbled before he strode to the stern and grabbed the tiller from the other man.

Now that the lady was aboard, Alexander expected Osburn to approach her. He didn’t. He simply sank down in the bow and lifted his ever-present wineskin to his lips.

The lady made her way to the center of the ship, where Denis was standing with a blanket at the ready. With a few quiet words, he offered it to her. She accepted it, enshrouding herself before sitting with her back to the mastfish, a T-shaped support for the mast when it was raised.

Ingar gave the order for his men to commence rowing. Alexander moved swiftly out of their way, joining Denis a few paces from the lady.

Ingar set a brisk pace. Obviously well trained, his men rowed with swift, silent strokes, sending the ship shooting down the river like an arrow from a bow.

Denis plopped himself down and offered Alexander another rough woolen blanket that, like the Norsemen, smelled of salted fish and ale. The blanket around his shoulders, Alexander pulled on his boots and noted that Denis had brought his swordbelt and tunics there, too.

“
Merde
, I thought you had lost your senses, Alexander, jumping over the side like that!” Denis quietly exclaimed as they both leaned back against the yard and furrowed sail. “I swear I have aged ten years.”

Alexander felt he had aged more than that. This venture, which had sounded so simple when Lord Oswald had proposed it, was turning out to be far more complicated than he had ever dreamed.

Rather like the lady.

“I had to get her back,” he replied. “It’s a damn good thing she didn’t drown.”

“
Oui
, of course,” Denis agreed.

Alexander lowered his voice to a whisper that the grunting, sweating Norsemen couldn’t hear. “I’m going to keep watch tonight. I don’t trust Osburn, or these Norsemen. I wouldn’t put it past them to kill us and sell her, if they thought they could get away with it.”

“But Lord Oswald has paid them well, I’m sure.”

“I hope he has paid them enough.”