What the Earl Desires (17 page)

He lunged from the wagon and scrambled over the snow-covered road to the dead man whose blood soaked the white flakes. Wrenching the saber from the sheath it resided in, he rolled and came up parrying a strike from the nearest attacker. While he had been an ample swordsman at one time, he’d had very little recourse to maintain such a skill and was rusty.

His hat fell off and he ripped his cloak from his neck in order to give himself more maneuverability. He ignored the urge to look for Najja, praying she had not lied about her abilities. The rake of a blade tore across his arm and he hissed in pain before putting all his attention on his opponent. The man was good, very good. And he was tired when he pulled the bloodstained blade from the man’s chest to spin and search for the next.

He found he couldn’t move. Najja was doing exactly what she and Wilkes both had said she could. Fight. And she moved with a lethal grace unlike anything he’d ever seen before. Each move effective. She fought two men and there were none remaining beyond them.

Her body was clothed in black breeches and top. Unbound her hair whipped around her face, only allowing glimpses of her expression. Upon her face this look of such fierceness made him glad she was on his side. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a man moving slowly toward his horse.

“I do not think so,” he said. Standing over him, he positioned the saber point at his throat. “I have some questions for you.” Securing him, Colin looked back up in time to see Najja dispatch her final opponent.

She stood there, surrounded by fallen bodies, blood dripping off her weapons, body heaving with each breath she took. Wearing all black with snow falling around her there was a primal and untamed look about her. Her eyes closed briefly before she wiped the blades off on the nearest man’s shirt and sheathed them within her calf-high boots in a singly smooth practiced move.

“Najja,” he said.

Her head snapped up and it took a second before recognition seemed to penetrate the haze surrounding her eyes. She moved to his side immediately and glanced down at the man bound and gagged at his feet.

“Would you like me to kill him for you?” she asked in an emotionless tone.

The man muttered from behind the cloth shoved in his mouth, eyes wide. “Let me see if he talks first,” Colin said.

“Very good, sir.” She walked away leaving him alone with the man.

Crouching down beside him, he ripped the gag away and demanded, “Who hired you?”

The man flashed a defiant look before he glanced back over toward Najja. All color drained from his face. He’d since removed the face covering but still didn’t recognize the man.

“One chance,” Colin warned.

“Viscount Chambers.”

You could have knocked him over with a feather. That was a distant cousin. Why would that man send people to kill him?

“Stephen?”

“In…in the pocket of the large one is the order written with the man’s seal.”

Anger pooled in his gut. Would he never be away from treachery and betrayal? “Get up,” he barked hauling the man to his feet.

Najja had gathered the horses and currently attached them to the back of the wagon. She barely glanced at him and he shoved the man in her direction before moving to check the dead. His rage grew when he found the missive as the man had said. Facing the two left he struggled for control. What the hell was he to do now? He caught Najja’s gaze and she walked toward him after leaning her head in close to the still bound man.

“Did you find the answers you needed?”

“Yes,” he rumbled.

“I think we should continue on. Put him in the wagon with you and I will ride alongside.”

He stared at her, sweat and blood mingled on her face and he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms. “Are you okay?”

“You also need to let me see to your injury. Then we shall leave. Can you help me put the bodies on horses?”

He ignored the fact she never answered his question. They moved quickly. The sole survivor tied in the wagon, dead bodies slung over horses and one left for Najja to ride. He allowed her to see to his injury, both of them ignored the other man and his. Then they set out for the final leg of the delivery.

Najja rode close to the other man, his own cloak covered her from the neck down. The remaining distance done in strained silence. When they finally made it into Ashford, he immediately hollered out for someone to get the constable. The man turned over, the dead as well, he headed to the place who’d ordered his whisky and delivered it.

The wagon empty, the horses in a stable, dry and eating, he finally turned his attention to the woman beside him. Steering her in the direction of an inn, he demanded a room. The proprietor raised a brow but he refused to say another word.

Once he got them up there, he ordered a hot bath. After it arrived he said, “I am going to get you some food. Enjoy the bath, I will be back when you are finished.” Just imagining her in the tub made his body stiffen and no amount of cold weather would eliminate that.

“Very well,” she said in a voice so soft he almost missed it.

“I will knock before I come back in,” he whispered leaving, before it couldn’t be done.

He ate downstairs and talked to the constable again about what happened, leaving out the part where Najja had anything to do with killing. When he was convinced a suitable amount of time had passed, he got up and headed for their room. He paused before knocking. No answer. He knocked again. Still nothing.

With a frown he pushed into the room. The tub was empty, food untouched, and she lay sleeping on the floor. Closing the door and locking it behind him, Colin made his way to the pallet she’d made for herself. She was sound asleep. Her face scrubbed clean, black hair spread out like a fan on the white pillow. The blankets were pulled up to her chin. She looked so innocent. So unlike the woman who had just killed four men to save their lives. He wanted to wake her and put her in the bed, but didn’t disturb her.

Colin made good use of the lukewarm water and put on his clothes. Then he called for them to remove the tub. Once again it was just the two of them. He knew the maids had seen her on the floor but he didn’t say anything to them about it, for it was none of their affair.

He made his way over to her side and crouched down, not touching her. “Najja,” he said.

She barely stirred. Colin frowned when he saw beads of sweat upon her forehead. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. He blinked and when he had his eyes open again, he found himself held immobile by her powerful gaze.

“Come on, Najja,” he said, putting as much authority in his words as he could. “Get to the bed.”

“Bed is yours.”

“We can share. I am exhausted and I know you are as well. As much as I would love to explore your body, this is not the night. But we can at least both be comfortable.”

He saw her indecision and took the choice from her. With a sigh, he slid his arms under her and lifted her off the floor and carried her to the narrow bed. It didn’t take long to get her under the covers. He ensured the lock had been engaged on the door and climbed into the bed with just his breeches on. Laying between Najja and the door and with only the fire offering light he gazed at her.

Her lashes settled upon her cheeks and by all appearances she had succumbed to sleep. He knew without a doubt short of having numerous men along with him it would have ended in another disaster for him. Najja…had been incredible. He didn’t doubt that those who had yet to fall under her weapons had been just as mesmerized as he’d been.

That reminds me, I want to take a better look at what she used.

Brushing his lips over her forehead, he gathered her close, grateful for the opportunity to at least hold her in his arms. The bouncing and jarring of the wagon, the cold, and the continued vigilance for and the actual attack had worn him out so he willingly went into the land of dreams.

He woke up with a throbbing erection. Lush curves pressed against him, a small hand resting just above the waistband of his breeches. Each inhalation swamped him with the evocative scent of vanilla and spiced roses.

Najja was in his arms and his bed. Turning his head, he sought out her lips, not wishing to wake from the dream. She was hot. So was he. Moving his hand he frowned as he came into contact with clothing. Cracking his eyes, he noticed she lay almost totally on top of him, her leg lay wedged between his, her head buried against his shoulder. She was still asleep.

She moaned slightly and shifted against him. Wide awake now, Colin bit the inside of his cheek so he didn’t answer in kind. Her leg rubbed against his stiff length and he swallowed his groan. He flexed the fingers of his right hand which rested upon the firmness of her ass. An act which made her expel another sexy sound, almost like a purr.

Why not? They were rested now. Morning’s dim light struggled to penetrate the curtains over the window not that he cared. He was in no rush to leave this bed. Having her stripped bare…that was what he was after.

He moved his left hand over her side, seeking the bottom of her shirt. Once it was in his grasp he drew it up slowly, reveling in the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips. Such was it that he could feel his release rushing upon him, just from such a simple and intimate act.

Under his fingertips he could feel the change when he encountered some scars. But what halted him was when he felt a bandage. With a frown and a cooled ardor, he removed his hand and brought it out from the blankets. There upon his skin was the telltale sign of blood. Fear slammed into him. He yanked the blanket away and lifted her shirt. Sure enough, a blood-soaked bandage was in view.

Anger hit him hard. The fact she’d neglected to inform him she had been injured…made him see red. A deep powerful red.

“Najja,” he said, touching her shoulder.

Her eyes opened. For a moment he saw desire in them before it faded into awareness and calculating sharpness. “Time to go?” she asked, her voice weaker than he was used to.

“You are bleeding.”

“Sorry, I thought it would have stopped overnight.”

Her apology made him blink a few times. “Sorry? Why the hell did you not tell me you were wounded?”

She rolled away from him and got out of bed on the other side, the shirt dropping hiding the injury. He could see her wobble a bit. She was weakened.

“I am not used to telling.”

She crouched by her things and withdrew a pouch. He watched in amazement as she poured something into her hand, transferred it to her mouth only to remove it when it was the consistency of paste and slap it over the open wound which she’d uncovered while she moistened the stuff with her saliva.

A shadow of a grimace flitted over her face otherwise he would have never known of her discomfort. He sat on the bed, the coverlet around his waist and stared at the woman who’d just vacated it. Her hair unconfined fell to rest upon the small of her back. He blinked and looked again, noting how she only wore a shirt.

His.

It fell almost to her knees and lust was like a bolt of lightning through him at the realization. His white linen a stunning offset to the darkened hue of her skin. Her legs were long, toned and mouthwatering. His shaft stiffened in the confines of his own breeches.

As if she could feel his gaze upon her, she turned her head and met his stare over her shoulder. “I am sorry I took your shirt.”

“It looks better on you, luv,” he said climbing out and moving to her side. One fingertip under her chin, he sank down until they were face to face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. What about you? I should clean your injury.”

He’d forgotten all about his own. “Yes,” he whispered refusing to release her gaze.

“Get on the bed.”

“If only you meant those words how I wish you to mean them, Najja my love.”

He skimmed her full lush lips with his thumb before following her order. It didn’t take her long to dress. Without a smidge of hesitation, she removed his shirt and although her back was to him, the sight didn’t affect him any less. The morning light showed him her figure. The narrow tuck of her waist, full hips, and smooth back which was hidden mostly by her hair. Although when she shrugged into her shirt, he caught another glimpse of some scars.

His fingertips itched with the desire to touch her. Trail his tongue along her spine and take at least a fortnight to learn her secrets and then start all over. She faced him even as she continued to lace up the front of her blouse. No, correction not the front. The ties were on one side. When she finished, she scooped up her boots and her bag of medicine and made her way to him.

She sat beside him, silent and tied on her black boots. Her weapons between them, he picked one up. Black steel, the handle tightly wrapped in black leather, the weight surprised him, for some reason he’d thought it would be lighter.

“What are these?” he asked even as he touched the edge on the weapon. Razor sharp.

“Sais,” she said, sliding one home into the outer side of her boot. That foot went to the floor and she faced him. “Like this.”

Colin was a rapt pupil as she showed him the rudimentary movements with the weapon. He was awed by her attention to him. She was respectful yet fierce. And he felt oddly like an outsider when he asked her for a slow demonstration and she held the dark steel in her hands to give him just that. The weapons were one with her and she with them.