Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

  Tori replaced the brush on the dresser and turned to find herself locked in a warm embrace. His mouth came crashing down on hers, his arms surrounded her, pressing her closer, tighter, hurting her.

  She clung to him, more for support than out of passion, the pressure of his lips forcing hers to part. Instinctively she began to draw away . . . but he would not let her.

  The scar deepened in color, as if burning his cheek. Marcus lifted his mouth from hers and they stared into each other’s eyes. His dark gaze smouldered, penetrating into her wide, yellow-green eyes. Her face filled with wonderment and she slid into his embrace and kissed him, soaring with the glory of her passion.

  He tightened his arms around her and returned her kisses with tender touches of his tongue. His hands strayed to her breasts and she welcomed his advances. Her heart pounding violently, thighs pressed against his, she became aware of his arousal.

  Tori was melting, dissolving, becoming a part of him, kissing him with more and more abandon. Overcome by the passion and desire she felt for him, Tori caressed him with infinite tenderness and let the tide of her own desire carry her.

  Marcus looked down into Tori’s humid eyes with a questioning tenderness. With an answering look from her, he lifted her into his arms and carried her across the room to his bed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “There’s no other way, Josh! The girl comes with us!” Marcus’s voice was unyielding, a tone he had never used with his old friend.

  “She’s got you bewitched, Marc. Leave her behind. I don’t understand you.” The giant’s worried, pale-blue eyes penetrated Marcus’s anger.

  “I’m sorry, Josh,” Marcus was contrite, “there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, but I cannot go along with you on this. We all ride together, and that means the girl. You know as well as I do what’s at stake. We can’t afford any mishaps now—sailing time is too close—they already postponed the tax delivery, and I think that was due to the last robbery we committed. There’s been a leak somewhere.”

  Marcus lifted his eyes in earnest to his old friend. “We are now well behind on the sailing. I can’t afford any more delay. In four months it will be planting time, and I feel that the lives of all the people in the valley hang on my head. It’s a grim business, Josh.”

  The bandit’s eyes became hard and cold. “The snows are already here, what then? There’s no place for us to winter, we have to make haste!” In a somber tone he stated again, simply, “The girl rides with us.”

  Josh saw the hard set of Marcus’s face and knew he had lost. It was the first time Marcus had not paid heed to his advice. “Oh, the gods be with us, Marcus. Who’s to tell her, you or me?”

  “I leave you the honor, Josh.” Marcus had no wish to gaze into those melting eyes. He needed time to keep his senses alert. Whenever he came near her he remembered the feel of her in his arms, her soft, moist mouth beneath his.

  Josh nodded morosely. “First, I best ride on to the Boare Inn and see what I can smell out.”

  Marcus asked, “Are you well enough, Josh? You must keep your strength for what’s at hand.”

  “Aye, I’m well enough,” Josh answered, heaving himself to his feet. “If I ride now I should be back by sundown. Watch Charles, Marc. He had his eye on the girl and he means to have her one way or the other.”

  Marcus let his eyes go to the sleeping Charles and his brother John. Marcus, too, had seen the way Charles looked at the girl, and it rankled him more now than ever. If Charles dared to touch her he’d find himself at the business end of Scarblade’s knife!

  Still, Marcus could not set Tori free; too much was at stake, and he found himself reluctant to part with her. Somehow she had penetrated his reserve, inched herself beneath his skin, and he was aware of the void her leaving would create in his life.

  Josh mounted his sorrel and rode quietly out of the clearing. Once on the road, he flicked the reins and the animal broke into a fast gallop, bearing the weight of Josh’s huge frame with ease.

  The day crawled by. The men took turns chipping wood and keeping the fire roaring. By late afternoon the skies clouded over and there was a sharp drop in the temperature. The men gathered around the fire and talked in low tones. “I think we should build a ring of fires,” Marcus spoke. “If it snows—and I think it will—we’re in for a spot of trouble. Let’s heave to, lads, and get at the wood. No stinting now, put your backs into it. If I don’t miss my guess the snow will start by nightfall.”

  The men muttered and grumbled but fell to the work. They had no wish to have the blood freeze in their veins.

  Tori sat huddled by the fire, shivering; the thin rags she wore were no help from the cold. She wrapped a moth-eaten blanket close about her and drew her legs up to her chin. She felt hot tears sting her eyes. She longed for her bed and a warm cover over her, but most of all she wished to be far away from Marcus Chancelor—Scarblade!

  Earlier in the day, Tori had watched Scarblade bending to the task of chopping wood for the fires. His leather tunic strained over the bunching muscles in his back, the knotted tendons in his forearms glistening with a veil of sweat as he brought up the axe and swung it down with a force that bit into the frozen wood and split it with a shattering crack. The power in his muscled torso and legs gave her a thrill of remembered intimacy.

  Softly, she approached him, driven by the need to touch him, to feel once again the hardness of his body against hers. The shabby cloak slipped from her shoulders, the wind tumbled her hair about her head. She reached out and touched his arm, and startled by her coming upon him so quietly, he turned toward her. His ebony eyes took in her full, parted lips, lids half closed over the yellow-green eyes.

  Abruptly, he pushed her away from him with such a violence her teeth rattled. His eyes avoided hers; the pain of rejection pricked her eyelids. In a gruff voice he commanded her to go to her tent.

  Humiliation prevented her from coming forth with an oath. Not remembering how she had fled his accusing eyes, she lay there in her darkened tent forcing back the tears. He had used her and she, God forgive her, had helped him, enjoyed it, loved it! And now he was through with her as though she were some cheap doxy.

  Oh, how I hate him! she cried silently, I hate him! But realizing the truth for what it was, “God help me, I love him, I love him!”

  Now, when she thought of him, the name Marcus came to her lips. But she had sworn to think of him and refer to him as only Scarblade. This was a promise she had no intention of breaking. Foolish and fast of tongue she might be, but she had no stomach for being responsible for the lives of those people in North Carolina.

  Tori knew she was to ride with the men; she had heard Marcus and Josh talking. Suddenly, for the first time in days, she felt warm. Looking around, she saw the fires flare up. There were eight of them spread in a wide circle, and she could still hear the sharp ring of the men’s axes as they continued to chop wood. There must be enough to last the night.

  Marcus carried the bedrolls and deposited them inside the circle. Her breath came in quick gasps as he sought for and found her eyes on him.

  “The least you could have done, Scarblade, in your plundering, was to steal me a fur wrap. I’m freezing,” she said petulantly. “Do you care?” she cried. “If I wake up frozen, I’ll be on your conscience,” she spat. “That is, if you have one! What kind of man are you? Be honest!”

  Marcus stood still, his eyes glowing like coals in his bitter face. “What do you know about honesty? You used the name of another and have the effrontery to sit there and tell me what I should and should not do. But for my intervention you would be six feet under the hard, cold ground.”

  Tori was undaunted. “I can take care of myself, Scarblade. I didn’t ask you to interfere in my behalf. I didn’t ask to be brought here! In fact, I tried to leave.”

  “So you could go straight to the sheriff’s men and turn us in. Did you expect to collect the reward?”

  “Yes!” Tori snarled. “I would betray
you in a moment if I believed I could get away with it. I owe you naught! You’re keeping me against my will.” She jumped up from the ground, her eyes blazing. Oh, God, when will I learn to keep my mouth shut? she thought. Why do I seek to hurt him? I only blacken myself in his eyes. “Scarblade, give me a horse and I give you my word I’ll ride out of here and you’ll hear no more of me. I won’t go to the sheriff, my word,” she pleaded. He had to agree, he had to set her free, to be away from him, to put him out of her mind if she could.

  Scarblade snorted as he stretched out his hand as if to grab her. Tori, sensing his intention, backed off, stumbling slightly. “Don’t lay a hand on me, Scarblade!”

  “I wouldn’t think of it, Dolly,” he mocked. “Actually I had no intention of touching you. I merely put out a hand to feel the snow. It’s started,” he said as he raised his eyes.

  “So it has,” Tori said quietly, knowing the hardship the weather would bring to his task.

  Scarblade and the other men joined Tori in the center of the ring of fires, enjoying the blazing warmth. The hours crawled by, and Tori dozed off several times only to be awakened by the surging chill in her extremities. Her feet were colder than the snow that continued to fall in great fluffy flakes, and she was certain she could sense the beginnings of chilblains on her fingers.

  Scarblade often left the warmth of the ring to walk out to the edge of the encampment, no doubt to listen for the approach of Josh. It had been too many hours since he had left to attend to his mission, and it was clear that Scarblade was sorely worried. Tori, too, was apprehensive about Josh’s safety. His condition had worsened due to the cold and lack of substantial food.

  Darkness had long since fallen and Scarblade could wait no longer for Josh. Arousing the grumbling men with the toe of his boot, he commanded them to ready their horses to make a search for his friend.

  “Wha’ o’ th’ girl?” John asked. “Are ye goin’ ta take ’er wi’ ye?”

  Scarblade turned and noted the expression of worry in Tori’s face. “What of it, Dolly?” he asked, his concern masking the challenge in his eyes. “Will you wait here for Josh’s return, for it would seem he met with a mishap along the way. He’d never be so long in returning if something hadn’t happened, and if I don’t miss my guess, he became too ill to continue his journey. He just might need the tender touch of a woman when we bring him back. What say you, can you be trusted?”

  Tori saw the silent pleading in Marcus’s eyes and felt the sharp stab of concern for Josh. “Yes, I’ll be here waiting. He saw me through my illness, and I’ll not run off and leave him to the rough hands of you and your men. Go and find him, Scarblade, and bring him to me.”

  Marcus, relieved at hearing her promise, flashed a smile. “We’ll not be long, for there are only two ways to travel to where he was going.” Without further words, Marcus hurried off to mount his chestnut and to begin the search.

  At their leaving, Tori began the chore of stoking the fires and warming her own blankets and bedroll in expectation of Josh’s arrival. He would need a warm bed and hot soup, she thought, as she began warming a kettle of beef broth. So busy at her task was she that she failed to hear the stealthy sounds of someone stalking her. An arm shot out from behind her and knocked her to the ground. She struggled in vain against the wiry strength that held her fast, forcing her over onto her back and fumbling with the wide belt she wore. Shaking the masses of hair from her eyes, she saw her attacker—Charles!

  Numbly, Tori protested against the wild cruelty in his eyes, and when she struggled to gain leverage to fight him off he sent her a stinging blow to the head. Blackness threatened to engulf her and a dizziness upset her equilibrium.

  Terrified, Tori gathered all her strength and frantically tried to put him off her. If she could only get to her feet she might be able to hide from him in this blinding snowstorm.

  But it was not to be. Charles held her fast with the weight of his body and tore her clothes from her in a frenzy. Her shoes had come off in her struggles, and Charles had torn the shawl and thin cambric shirt from her shoulders, leaving her reddened flesh exposed to the ravages of his lips. Having no patience for her camisole, he ripped it from her while one arm was pressed against her throat, leaving Tori to gasp for air.

  Shifting his weight and imprisoning her legs beneath his own, he fumbled with her belt buckle again, this time succeeding in loosening it and tearing down her trousers. His greedy, lascivious eyes shone with triumph as he proceeded to undo his own trousers.

  Tori swore and cursed, words she had not known she knew. She was fighting, struggling to gain a grasp on her attacker, aiming with clawlike hands for those horrible glittering eyes.

  A sound behind her and Charles ceased his attack, a fearful, terrified expression like that of a trapped animal on his face.

  Slowly, he backed off her, his fear so great that Tori imagined she could smell it. Pulling herself away from Charles, she looked off to where he was staring. Scarblade!

  “So, Charles! It wasn’t until we were well off in the opposite direction that I remembered I had left the girl here alone and unprotected. It would appear that I was correct in my concern for her!”

  “Oi wuz jus’ ’avin’ a bit o’ fun, Scarblade. Oi didn’ mean no ’arm, Oi didn’. She loikes it, Oi tells ye, don’ ye, Dolly, tell ’im ’ow ye loikes it!”

  Charles’s face was a study in terror as he begged her for aid. Seeing he was whipping a dead horse, he changed his tune. “Go on, tell ’im,” he demanded. “Tell ’im ’ow this ain’t th’ firs’ toime, ’ow there’s been plenty o’ toimes afore this. An’ tell ’im ’ow ye loikes it rough! Won’ ye tell ’im now!”

  For an answer, Tori spat, her face wrought into lines of disgust and hate. Scarblade pounced on Charles, bringing a heavy fist into his face. Tori watched, mesmerized by the violence of the scuffle. Charles didn’t have a chance, Scarblade was too big, too strong.

  The deep-ridged scar glowed with malevolent portent as Scarblade grabbed Charles’s tunic with both hands. Quickly, viciously, Scarblade drew back his right arm, his knuckles white and stark against the eerie fire’s glow. There was a lightninglike blow to Charles’s terror-drawn mouth, and Tori stepped backwards as the rotted stumps of Charles’s teeth splintered and shattered beneath Scarblade’s force.

  As Scarblade whipped his hand back for a second blow droplets of crimson rained upon the flames. Tori was revolted by the sound of the spitting and hissing as the blood boiled in the fire.

  Panting from the exertion of the fight, Scarblade turned to Tori, concern written in his eyes. She sat there, numb with horror and trembling with cold. She did not seem to notice Marcus as he adjusted her clothing into a more reputable state, moving her arms and legs as needed, as though she were a wooden doll.

  “Tori, Tori,” he called to her softly, trying desperately to break through her daze. Slowly she turned to face him, great tears falling from her wide, staring eyes. Choking sobs escaped her parted lips, deepening to wracking heaves.

  Tenderly Marcus picked her up and carried her close to the fire and held her on his lap, stroking her head and whispering soft and tender words, trying to keep her from becoming hysterical. He realized how deeply affected she had been by Charles’s cruelty. This was a woman who would give herself totally to a man she loved, willingly give the pleasures of her body, as he well knew. But by the same token, to be touched by someone she could not love was indeed a fate worse than death.

  After a time Tori came around, her heavy, quaking sobs abating to a mild hiccoughing. “Will you be all right now?” Scarblade asked, his voice heavy with emotion. “I should have killed that bastard son of a . . .”

  Tori put her cold hands to his lips and held them there. “I’m glad you didn’t kill him, I wouldn’t want you to have the blood of a man upon your hands for me. I promise you, I shall be fine.”

  Marcus could see that she spoke the truth. The color was returning to her cheeks and her lips had lost their whitene
ss. But her eyes were still blazing and widely staring.

  “Marcus, I want you to go and look for Josh, he needs you more than I do right now. I promise you, I’ll be fine.” Her eyes strayed to the place where Charles had crept off, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Marcus knew it cost her much to think of Josh and be left alone.

  Reading his thoughts, Tori said, “If you would leave me your pistol I’ll be more careful that no one creeps up on me.

  “You’re a brave girl, Tori,” Marcus said, his voice husky and his eyes dark and tender. Tori caught her breath and felt herself melt into his arms, but stopped herself just in time. No matter how grateful she was to Marcus for saving her from Charles’s attack, she would not put herself in a position to be rejected and humiliated by Marcus still another time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Marcus jumped to his feet when a sound of rushing horses entered the encampment.

  It was John and Richard, leading Josh’s horse with the huge man tied to the saddle. There were icicles encrusted onto his eyebrows, and Tori was sure the man’s eyes were frozen shut.

  Marcus grasped the big man around the shoulders as Richard held his feet. “Get him wrapped in blankets and I’ll get coffee and broth into him,” Tori said. “If he has a coughing spell now . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. Marcus knew what she was about to say.

  Carefully he lowered Josh to the ground and quickly wrapped him in blankets which Tori had warmed by the fire.

  An hour later, due to Tori’s careful ministering, Josh felt his strength returning. “I feel better already, darlin’,” Josh said, attempting a smile. “Let me get my breath and I’ll tell you what I found out at the inn. You’ll be much surprised.”

  The thin, swirling snow continued to fall in heavy, wet flakes. The wind howled ominously as the flames crackled.

  “It will be a bastard of a storm,” Scarblade said, looking thoughtfully at Josh.