With a sigh, Victoria realized that these women were excited to see another woman bound to a man in a transfer-of-possession ceremony.
She had fallen into a primitive society. She would be glad to return to England, the home of civilized behavior. Not too much longer …
Odd how that thought made her spirits lower.
At a little past noon, the women decided it was time to go back to Danel’s camp.
There flowers festooned the trees. The women had created garlands of blue columbines and pure white mountain meadow flowers, and hung them from the pine branches, creating a bower of sorts.
A lean, brown, weathered woman sat in Danel’s seat of honor and gazed at Victoria shrewdly, as if she knew Victoria wore no undergarments beneath the native costume.
The men of the castle had arrived and were gathered in knots, laughing and joking. They had washed and dressed in their finest, which was still remarkably shabby.
But they looked excited, as though they were about to see something special. Victoria imagined they were probably more thrilled by the prospect of free-flowing wine after the ceremony.
The castle children had arrived with their parents, mixed with the children in Danel’s camp, and now ran screaming in circles of excitement. Many of the children she had taught English and mathematics (and who had taught her Moricadian) stopped their play to watch Victoria’s arrival, and she gave them a quick wave and a generous smile.
Prospero was helping Hada make her slow, painful way off his horse, and the big, rude jackass of a man handled his wife as if she were spun glass.
A spot in front of the fire had been cleared, similar to the circle they’d cleared for the knife fight. Danel and Raul stood waiting, and for a moment, she wondered if they were going to fight again. But no, they both looked oddly … clean. Raul’s hair was damp and pushed back from his face, and he wore a crisp white shirt, rough brown trousers that tied at his waist and ankles, and short brown boots.
Danel’s head was shaved. So was his face. He looked like a shiny round Shrovetide ball with eyes and a surprisingly small pursed mouth.
Everyone was waiting for something … waiting for her.
She didn’t have a choice. She would reside with either Danel or Raul, and she knew who held her heart… .
No. She didn’t want to dwell on the emotions that could bind her so tightly that if she tried to free herself, she would break.
She strode forward.
Amya caught her cloak and pulled it off her shoulders, leaving her clad in that ridiculous, revealing native costume. She felt the breeze stir her skirts and press the thin material closer to her slender frame.
But Victoria didn’t pause. She wanted to get this over with. She stood before Raul, challenging him with everything in her.
The man didn’t play fair, though. He reached out, slow and gentle, and smoothed her hair back, tucking a strand behind her ear.
He was lethal.
Once they stood in place, Danel started talking, fast and sure.
If Victoria understood Moricadian better, she would be able to follow along, but the language seemed archaic and formulaic— a ceremony, just as they’d said, and probably from ancient times. She could understand only snippets of Danel’s words, and they sounded very formal, words that seemed odd coming from Danel’s mouth.
At various parts of the ritual, Danel stopped speaking after what seemed like a question. The first time, the weathered woman sitting in Danel’s chair answered
“yes” to whatever question was asked. The second time, Danel looked expectantly at the crowd and was met with only smiling silence.
Finally, Danel paused in his speech, and Celesta handed Danel a coil of worn, gold-threaded rope.
Raul tugged Victoria around so she stood with her back to his chest, put his right hand on top of hers, and Danel used the rope to tie their wrists together.
“It’s too tight,” she said.
“That’s so if one of us tries to cut ourselves free, we’ll both bleed,” Raul said.
She couldn’t see his face, but his voice was meaningful. Which made her feel sort of … funny. Tearful and incredulous.
But when Raul lifted his arm— and hers with it— and the people cheered, Victoria smiled.
It was what was expected of her.
At her back, Raul chuckled deep in his chest.
The celebration wasn’t so much a meal as a constant flow of food and drink. Raul’s people and Danel’s people joined together to cook, to drink, to laugh, to dance.
Musicians from both camps produced instruments and played. Victoria sat on the ground on Danel’s rug between Raul’s outstretched legs.
She had to sit with Raul. Everyone refused to untie their hands.
She ate from Raul’s fingers, drank from his cup. She thought the proceedings were odd; no one else seemed to. In fact, all around the fire, the men fed their women as if it were some Moricadian ceremonial ritual. Truthfully, Victoria had grown somewhat used to Raul’s unorthodox dining methods, even finding comfort in the knowledge that he paid such close attention to her likes and dislikes and catered to them at every opportunity, as he had done every day since he captured her and brought her to his castle.
Danel tapped a barrel of strong liquor— according to him, his mother had made it— and the first sip took Victoria’s breath away. But she was aware of Izba Xaviera’s critical gaze and sipped again.
Actually, after the first glass, she decided the beverage tasted like oranges. Very, very intense oranges. After the second glass, she decided she liked it.
Raul wouldn’t let her have a third glass.
When Victoria felt the need to use the convenience, Raul walked her to the edge of the clearing, untied the knot that bound them, and every woman in the camp accompanied her. Which made her hostile until Raul assured her it was merely tradition. He said, with a twinkle, that in ancient times the possession sometimes made a run for freedom.
“Wise possession,” Victoria muttered.
“You’ll get your chance,” he said enigmatically. All the while Raul and Victoria ate and drank, smiled and nodded, conversations swirled around them.
“The training is going well.”
“Thompson volunteered to stay behind to tend the castle.”
“Prince Sandre is afraid to come out in public. They say he stays in his room tending his accounts.”
“We attack in a week.”
“We attack at the next new moon.”
“We attack when we’re told.”
“Jean-Pierre is quite mad— he’s holding the palace guard hostage by putting their families in the dungeon.”
Yet the conversation seemed halfhearted, as if the family were watching the sky and waiting for some special event.
Finally, when the afternoon was waning, Izba Xaviera raised one bent finger. “It is time!”
Raul lifted Victoria to her feet.
Izba Xaviera carefully untied the knot. She coiled up the rope and handed it to Raul, then started toward the path that wound into the depths of the forest.
Raul and Victoria followed.
Victoria glanced around.
The entire party trailed behind them.
At the edge of the forest, Izba Xaviera stepped aside.
Everyone gazed expectantly at Victoria.
She looked around inquiringly.
“Run,” Hada said, sotto voce.
She glanced at Danel.
He jerked his head toward the depths of the woods.
Victoria glanced at Raul.
He watched her with a furrowed brow as if … as if he were the predator, she the prey, and he was waiting to hunt her down.
On a gasp, she leaped into the forest and fled down the path.
Chapter Forty
The whole camp gave chase, hooting and calling out, the women encouraging Victoria to run away, the men shouting for Raul to catch her.
She glanced behind her.
Raul was ten
feet back, keeping pace with her.
The rest of the party was behind him, but rapidly diminishing as the path grew steep. Couples peeled off into the woods. Singles turned back to the party.
Soon it was only Victoria and Raul running through the forest. She took one small path, then another. She was lost. She was half-scared because he seemed so intent— but not really scared. Because she was uncontrollably giggling.
The path widened and she found herself in a clear, high, rocky circle where the last of the sun’s rays lingered and the surrounding trees were deep and old and quiet. She put her hand to the stitch in her side and turned, gasping, to face him.
He stopped, his shoulders hunched, his gaze intent, his hands cupped and loose at his side.
She backed away, laughing.
He was not even smiling. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths. His green eyes focused on her to the exclusion of all else.
Unhurriedly, he started to stalk her.
It felt like a game … a game with one ending. And knowing what he intended made her feel fluttery and foolish and … aroused. “No.” She thought she sounded, well, not stern at all. More like teasing and flirtatious.
So she frowned, shook her head, and backed away. “No, Raul, listen to me. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Perhaps he listened to what she meant, not what she said, for he kept walking, one slow step after another.
“Raul, this is ridiculous. We’re out of doors!” She glanced behind her.
Apparently, when she stopped he’d immediately assessed the terrain, and shrewdly planned his ambush, for he was backing her into a corner between a towering stone cliff and a tall, smooth boulder.
Her heart rate picked up. She laughed again, breathless with a need as sudden as a summer storm. “Anyone could see us.” Her back struck the boulder. The stone was rough, crystalline, warm from the lingering rays of the sun. She inched sideways, trying to stay out of his reach. “Raul, listen …”
He grabbed her so fast she was trapped before she knew it. His hands, hot on her waist, held her still as he pressed her between his body and the hard surface. Immediately and without finesse, he pulled her shift up, out of the way. “No one followed us. I made sure of that.” His voice was guttural, hard, flat.
She swallowed. She didn’t feel like laughing now. She was bare, exposed to the open air … and to him.
He pushed his knee between her legs and rubbed his thigh up and down.
At once she caught fire. She grabbed his shoulders for balance in a rapidly tilting world, and moved on him, and moaned his name.
How could she be at a pitch point so soon? What kind of woman grew incited to the pitch point by stalking?
Was she an animal?
Was he?
Yes. And yes. Because he tore at the buttons on his trousers. He shoved them down. Gripping her bottom, he lifted her against the rock.
She wrapped her legs around his hips.
He balanced her, used his fingers to probe at her opening. Then both his hands were on her bottom again, and it wasn’t his fingers anymore. It was him, his organ, burning her with the heat of his lust.
She was damp.
He was hard.
He breached her at once and started thrusting, moving too fast for her to adjust.
Yet she did, her body unlocking for him, taking him in. She cried out at the sweet frenzy, at the unexpected power of this mating. The stone was rough at her back.
The setting sun struck at her eyes, blinding her to everything but Raul, his passion, his power. His dark hair swung around his savage, desperate face as need propelled him on, faster and faster.
She couldn’t move. He held her too forcefully. But her body clenched rhythmically, responding without her volition. She squeezed his shirt in her fists, arched her back, and tried to get closer to him when already he was touching the deepest part of her.
She didn’t want to be like this, in thrall to a desire she couldn’t control. She didn’t want to be a creature who responded to this male because he looked like sex, smelled like sex, because he made her live and breathe and be as his mate.
It was shameful to be so easy, but he was all she wanted.
He grunted, his face contorting, his organ jerking as he orgasmed.
And at the sight, the sound, the feel, she came.
She clawed at him.
And came again.
Some more.
Again.
The pleasure went on and on until tears started in her eyes and she cried aloud, and the forest and the stones absorbed the sound of her ecstasy.
Chapter Forty-one
Raul held Victoria securely pinned between the cliff face and his body. He was inside her as far as he could go. Yet even as he held her, still gasping from the force of her orgasm, her face warm and beautiful with pleasure, he felt as if she were slipping away.
He had to extract a vow now, while she was weak and clinging.
She was an honorable woman. No matter how unfair the circumstances, she would keep her word. “Victoria.” His voice was deep and commanding, vibrant with demand.
She opened her cornflower blue eyes and stared at him as if she were still lost to everything but the pleasure they’d found … together. Then she lavished a smile on him, and in a languorous voice whispered, “What?”
“Promise me you’ll never run away again.”
She blinked as if he confused her. “You were chasing me. I thought it was a game.”
“No, not that. Not today. I meant … promise you’ll never run away like you did after we … mated the first time.”
Her eyebrows went up in surprise, then down in irritation.
Hurriedly he added, “I know that for a gently bred young woman, the intimacies of”— what the hell did they call it in polite society?— “of physical relations are a shock. But I will be temperate”— just not this time— “and help you adjust. I promise to listen if you’re unhappy, as long as you will promise never to run away again.”
“I told you. I did not run away.” She sounded, looked, annoyed. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“You have been my captive. Captives run.”
“You know better.” She struggled against his hold. “I don’t run away from my problems.”
He clasped her tighter. “Am I such a problem?”
“Yes,” she said fervently. “Yes, you are.”
He thrust himself at her once more.
She flinched, not in pain but in delight. She shuddered, and inside, the sweet, warm nest flexed and caressed like a silk-gloved hand. “And that’s why.” She almost seemed to be talking to herself. “Because even when we’re finished with the wild passions and are at rest once more, all I can think is, How soon can I feel like that again?”
His cock stopped retreating, began to stiffen again.
“Yes. I think that, too.”
“Really?” She searched his face, and this time her smile was timidly pleased. “I’m glad. I’m glad I’m not the only one who …”
“No. You’re not the only one.”
She put both her hands on his face, held it, and looked into his eyes. “I swear to you, when I leave, I will say good-bye to you, to your face.”
It wasn’t the vow he truly wanted, but right now, it was enough.
Carefully, he lifted her, put her on her feet.
She leaned against the bedrock of Moricadia as if too weak to stand alone, and brushed the skirt down to fall around her ankles.
Swiftly, he pulled up his trousers and fastened them.
Seizing her hand, he towed her into the woods.
She stumbled after him.
He stopped. Turned to see her.
Her wheaten gold hair was tousled around her shoulders; her intelligent face was aglow with pleasure. She smiled at him as if she knew how much he was tempted to take her again, here and now.
“No,” he told her. Picking her up, he headed into the shadowed hush of the forest, intent
on his destination.
They reached it before the sun set, a pine grove set high on a rugged mountain.
Clearly, she knew at once what he’d brought her here to see. Going to the broad trunk of the oldest and tallest pine in Moricadia, she placed her hand on the rough bark and looked up.
“This tree grew here when Attila cut his swath through Europe, when my ancestor stole his saber and fled to give birth to his child in this land.” He jumped, caught the lowest branch, swung himself up, then leaned down and extended his hand. “Come on.”
“What?” She looked up at him as if he had lost his mind.
“Trust me,” he said.
Her face took on an expression he had begun to recognize: jaw set, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. “Only if you trust me.”
He studied her. He had never said that he believed her claim that she hadn’t run away. She had noticed. Of course she had. “I do trust you.”
She studied him back.
Their eyes locked, and without his volition, he saw things in her he had never thought to see: resolution, strength, courage, perhaps a little affection, and, most important, faith in him.
She must have seen the same traits, for she said, “All right,” and reached out her hand to him and gave a jump.
He pulled.
She grabbed the branch with her other hand.
He hauled her all the way up.
“I’ve never climbed a tree before,” she warned him.
“Another first with me,” he teased.
She gave him that patented female You’re treading on thin ice look.
He wasn’t concerned. She had faith in him. And affection. The two of them were almost a couple. “I’ll help you. Are you afraid of heights?”
“Not particularly.”
Of course not. “Are you afraid of anything?”
For a long, quiet moment, she scrutinized him. “I didn’t used to be.”
He didn’t know what she meant by that. But the sun was setting. They needed to climb before they lost the light. So he pointed up. “We’re going there.” There was a platform constructed of sturdy branches built a hundred feet in the air. “We built it when we were kids, Danel and I,” he told her. “If our mothers had known …” He helped her stand on the next branch up, showed her where to put her hands and feet, then followed close after her, ready to catch her if she slipped.
Taken by the Prince Page 23