Romancing the Rogue

by Kim Bowman

  “Ronan, enough!” How perfect — the pretty thing he lusted after becoming friends with his wife. Oh, the stories they could share.

  “But I want her,” Ronan grumbled.

  So do I. Marek couldn’t say the words.

  ~~~~

  With every step farther from her homeland, Brynn’s legs shook in protest. The last hill had proven difficult, but she trudged on. She had fallen behind the now out-of-sight Archaeans. Brynn estimated herself to be several hundred paces from them. Sucking in a deep breath, she calmed her nerves. The hoof prints remained visible — she wasn’t yet lost.

  She had no sense of direction — unlike the members of her traveling party, who seemed to know exactly where they were. With every mile behind them, their pace quickened, most anxious to press onward. Brynn gathered they headed north, as people with their coloring were from there. From the stories she had been told as a child, the Archaeans were a fierce people with fiery spirits and a thirst for blood. They took no prisoners and were bred for fighting. The men were tall and thick and the women just as vicious. Brynn had a twisted feeling in her gut that told her she wouldn’t be meeting any lords and ladies where they journeyed. No chicken pasties, no luxurious baths, and certainly no rose petal soap — only a golden-haired country she knew nothing of.

  Brynn stumbled as the incline she trudged up steepened sharply. Exhaling long and slow, she closed her eyes to stop her surroundings from twirling in an evil dance around her. She now regretted her decision to walk her own path and her body balked, begging for the torment to stop. Surely another short rest wouldn’t hurt. She needed to regain her strength. Her knees buckled, and she gave in to her body’s protest.

  Just a bit further, she told herself, you must get up. A breath hitched in her throat as she fumbled to stay upright, making a feeble attempt to stand when a solid grip wrapped under her arms and pulled her upward. In one fluid movement, she was on horseback, her back pressed firmly against the radiant heat of a body.

  Marek had come for her.

  Exhausted and strangely relieved, she collapsed against his chest. The familiar scent of smoke and sweat surrounded her, and she nestled deeper into the crevice created by his arm as he held the reins. Content, Brynn dozed, lulled by the steady rhythmic beating of his heart.

  ~~~~

  Between the steady swaying of the horse’s pace and the warmth of his body, Marek wasn’t at all surprised by how quickly her head slumped to the side in slumber. Hell, even he could sleep for a full day given the chance. A cool breeze picked up from the west, and judging by the upturned leaves on the trees, rain was soon to follow. Marek looked to the horizon. A golden haze was all that remained of sunset. They needed to make camp within the hour. He’d hoped to clear the approaching forest earlier in the day, but when Brynn disappeared from view, he made his men continue while he set out to retrieve her. The slow pace became a concern when forced to wait out the night once again, falling prey to whatever might be hunting them.

  They should reach the Crossroads before dusk the next day. If he pushed forward, they might be able to make it by the afternoon. The girl would have to ride — no more independence.

  A long lock of golden hair swept across his face, distracting Marek from his thoughts. It fixed itself to several days’ worth of growth covering his chin and cheeks, daring him to swipe it away. The tip of the tiny curl flicked in a mischievous wave, lingering by his lips and nose, taunting him with its flowery scent. He let it remain until he could stand the tickling no longer and maneuvered his hand to brush it from his face. Brynn stirred, muttering incoherently, before sighing and turning in toward him, snuggling ever deeper. Glancing down to check her position, the tunic caught his eye. The tie had somehow worked its way undone, exposing the exquisite coloration of womanly curves.

  The mounds of her breasts pressed against his arms, inviting Marek to steal a glimpse. Her flesh called to him. With a finger, he traced the lines on the palm of her splayed hand. Something within him stirred when he touched it. The creamy flesh beckoned him to look, to feel, to taste. “Damn the gods.” He exhaled, readjusting his seat to alleviate the uncomfortable arousal growing in his trousers. He wasn’t like other free fighters — he took no mistresses. He stayed faithful to his wife on this and every other employment taken. If there was one thing he would keep sacred during his regrettable life, it would be his honor.

  Resisting this one particular provocation proved more difficult than all others. Noble skin was soft and supple to the touch, not hardened and leathered by endless days of labor, and knowing how his men wanted to get their filthy hands on it made his cheeks burn. He’d been the one to nurse her wounds, to massage the spasms from her muscles when she writhed in pain. If anyone deserved to sample her, it was he.

  Marek cursed, forcing his thoughts back to Nya. He tried to picture her lovely smile but all he envisioned were those two silky breasts bouncing in his line of sight. What he wouldn’t give to cup them in his hands and suckle her until she screamed his name.

  “Marek…” A firm touch to his shoulder roused him from his thoughts.

  “Brother.” Marek yawned, straightening in the saddle.

  “I didn’t mean to stir you, but we must make camp. The skies are about to open. Aiden found a small cave near the hills. ’Tis this way.”

  Marek veered his horse, following Ronan.

  ~~~~

  Brynn awoke with a start. Panicking, she flailed, until a pair of possessive arms pinned her tight, securing her with their strength.

  “Shh, you are safe.” The whisper was soft and low in her ear.

  His voice brought her back from a troublesome dream. Heavy drops of rain splattered against Brynn’s face and she turned into him, seeking shelter. The horse jolted as Marek attempted to beat the rain. Brynn gripped Marek’s forearms, steadying herself.

  The horse leaped across a brook, and Marek brought the security of his arms to her chest, pushing her closer, molding her form under his.

  Brynn’s pulse raced as his heat melted her insides. His thighs pressed against her own as he commanded his mount, igniting a spark in her belly. A quick breath collided with the shell of her ear, hot and moist against the coolness of her skin.

  The sky then fully opened, releasing a torrent of cold mind-numbing rain.

  They were fully drenched when they reached the shelter. Marek took Brynn by the waist to lower her to the ground before dismounting. She scurried inside the cave while shielding her face from the stinging rain. The men tended the horses, tossing their gear and saddles out of the rain, shouting to one another above the claps of roaring thunder.

  The cave was small and shallow, but served its purpose. What little protection it offered was sufficient against the storm raging outside. Shrubs and fallen tree limbs covered the mouth of the shelter — perfect for hiding. Brynn moved to the back while the Archaeans rushed about gathering wood for a fire and spreading their blankets before darkness consumed the land. After struggling for a flame for a few tense moments, a fire crackled, infusing the air with its raw perfume.

  The men chatted amongst themselves, all but one sparing no attention to Brynn, huddled against the rock. Every so often Marek would shift his eyes in her direction, a constant reminder he hadn’t forgotten about her. After stoking the fire, the men stripped their clothing and laid them out to dry before bounding into the rain.

  Their sleek silhouettes were perfect in every way. Brynn diverted her eyes by covering them with her palm. Splaying her fingers, she peered between the cracks, unable to resist the intense desire to indulge in the view.

  A steady gush of water rolled from the lip of the cave, and the men took turns plunging their heads under it. She spotted Ronan by the way he favored his arm. His profile, long and robust, left her in awe until the flames flickered along the sinewy lines of the figure standing next to him — Marek.

  Marek’s back was to the fire, his head hung low. A steady light glimmered along the shadows of his muscular th
ighs and the sinuous curves of his backside. Flames traced the rigid edges of his lean form, revealing a teasing taste of his power. Tiny droplets gathered in small crevasses of muscle until the pools spilled down his back, following the paths carved by the twisting musculature of his frame.

  The godlike statues stepped from the water, speaking in hushed tones as they dressed. Marek slipped his tunic over his head. His eyes wandered in her direction and lingered there.

  Brynn swallowed the knot in her throat. Something was amiss.

  Ronan squeezed Marek’s shoulder, and the warrior’s face creased into a full scowl.

  A decision had been made, and the cold truth sliced through her. The sliver of hope she clung to faded into memory. No one would be coming for her. She was truly alone in this all-consuming darkness. Alone with strangers who cared naught about what would become of her. Hot tears burned her cheeks. Smearing them away, she made her own plan. She must stay strong and survive. She would make her way home by herself and beg for forgiveness. There could be no other option.

  The men lounged near the fire, drinking from their water bladders and snacking on their rations. Her stomach grumbled, but she dared not move closer. Brynn settled down into a shadow, hoping to disappear. A shiver ruptured from her body and she hugged her knees, longing to bask in the heat of the inviting fire.

  Her plan to melt into the walls faded quickly. Ronan approached with a bladder and a chunk of bread in hand, beckoning her to eat. Even in shadows, Brynn could sense his smile was radiant and kind. She was hesitant to accept the food, but she needed her strength. Her belly urged her to take it.

  A horse’s shrill whinny diverted Ronan’s attention, and he turned from her. Marek called for him, and Ronan thrust the bread and bladder at Brynn before disappearing into obscurity.

  In the commotion, Brynn heard a light tinkling — metal against rock. With the men preoccupied with the horses, she crept from her spot, exploring the cave floor with her fingers. She found the object not far from her location.

  A dagger. Squinting through the haze of smoke she peered at it, thumbing it with a hesitant caution for its shape and size. It was an oddly shaped dagger — not one she readily recognized — but small enough for her to hide without notice. She stuffed it into her hem and secured it in the ties of her skirt. A dagger would prove useful when it was time to make her escape. A little self-protection gave her the confidence boost she needed.

  Hearing voices, Brynn scrambled back to the cave wall and stuffed the bread in her mouth. As she chewed, the men stumbled back inside, bringing with them wafts of damp earth and the freshness of clean water. They shook the excess drops from their hair as if beasts escaping the rain. They returned to the fire, stoking the embers for a flame, muttering amongst themselves in hushed, warning tones. Without hesitation, Marek’s eyes searched for her.

  He hadn’t forgotten. The fiery blue eyes raked over her, and Brynn questioned her thoughts. Did he know she’d stolen the dagger? Had Ronan reported it missing? She took a long gulp of water from the bladder, wetting her parched palette. When the men slept, she would make her escape, slip into the night, never to be found.

  ~~~~

  “Here, cover yourself.” Marek stood above her, a blanket in hand.

  The girl shivered in her restless sleep, clutching her knees to her chest. Her eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice, and she roused to take the blanket from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

  “There’s still a small fire. You may warm yourself if you like.”

  Brynn retreated deeper into her little corner, shaking her head in defiance.

  Marek released a heavy sigh, lowering his frame against the wall opposite her. “Very well, but I would much rather be near the fire. I don’t relish freezing this night as you do.”

  “You don’t plan on… sleeping there?”

  “As I said, I would much rather be closer to the fire.”

  “So go then,” she countered.

  “So you can run out foolishly into the night? No.” Marek placed his arms behind his head, feigning relaxation. “And you seem to have my only dry blanket.”

  She shoved the covering at him. “Take it.”

  “Might we share it?” he offered, amusing no one but himself.

  Brynn snorted a cynical laugh. “As if I would ever allow that, Archaean.”

  “I merely offer warmth on this bitter night.”

  “What is it you plan on doing with me? If you won’t take me home, and I cannot leave your sight, what exactly are your intentions?” Brynn looked at him with expectant eyes.

  Deep conversation was far from his thoughts; he much preferred silence — and sleep. He rubbed his fingers over his brow, reluctant to reply. “We are taking you to the Crossroads, and then my men and I are going home.” He needed to remain calm, to stay in control. This girl had a way of taking over his mind.

  “What is the Crossroads? What are you not telling me?” The quivering of her words as they slipped off her tongue outweighed the hint of anger in her voice.

  Damn it, he should have kept his mouth shut. Now the questions and the tears would flow, and he’d be forced to deal with her womanly emotions. By the gods… women and their crying, they turned him into a bumbling fool.

  Brynn sucked in a shaky breath, a clear sign of tears.

  “The Crossroads is where our two lands meet. We will give you to a rich family, head to our own lands, and be done with you. You are a liability to me and my men.”

  “Surely you jest,” she protested. “You cannot be serious, I am of noble birth.”

  “Oh, I am more than serious, milady.”

  “How dare you mock me!” she shouted “Never more than now have I wished you dead! I could have you hanged!”

  “Me dead? Why, my lady, you would be the one dead if it were not for me saving your pathetic excuse for a life. Living the life of a slave will be far more beneficial than living under the rein of that man you call your father!”

  “My father is a fine Engel ruler! He would love nothing more than to snap the neck of an Archaean!”

  “You defend him? When was the last time you took a good look at yourself, Engel?” Marek found himself creeping ever closer to her seething little body, those taught breasts heaving and those deliciously tempting full lips taunting him with a pout. “What little I was taught about races, love, is that Engels have not been born with yellow hair for hundreds of years. If my memory serves me well, the entire reason your Engel army has been attacking our villages for a lifetime is because of that same yellow hair that adorns your pretty little head! Engel? Horse shit.”

  He was close to her now, so close that her breath was hot against his own, clinging to every little bead of moisture coating his skin. Marek curled a long tendril of her hair around his finger and rubbed it with his thumb. “Trust me, Archaean,” he whispered, releasing the curl, “your Engel father has disowned you — if he ever claimed you at all — and life as you once knew it is no more.”

  “No…” The word barely escaped on a breath as she shook her head in weak disagreement.

  Marek reined in his temper. “The life of a nursemaid is a good life. It is money in your purse and a roof over your head. Forgo trying to live as an Engel — you will never be an Engel. Marry an Archaean, one that will love you, not some piece of land and a bit of coin. Have a family… children. Do not submit to your father, he doesn’t want you. Find someone who does.”

  Her heart shattered before his eyes — he watched it crumble into irreparable pieces. Her anger for him bubbled over into her face, flushing her dampened cheeks, and she turned from him, hiding her emotion in the shadows. He watched as the realization of her fate became final in her mind as she attempted to rationalize the situation.

  “Never will I be a servant to any man. You make a grave mistake with your words.”

  “Then you will die alone. You are just a little girl. You do not know what is best for you.” Marek’s voice grew unsteady with frus
tration. The more she spoke, the more he wanted to shut her mouth for her. By the gods, she made his blood boil.

  “I am not a little girl!” Brynn pushed herself upright.

  Harsh shadows contorted her movements, jutting across the cave wall like ocean waves. Countering his advancements to match hers, Marek questioned her actions. “Going somewhere, Brynn?”

  “I won’t be sold to the highest bidder, Marek.” Her voice, low and smooth, dripped with determination. She had made up her mind about something, but Marek couldn’t decipher what. That made him extremely nervous.

  The girl circled behind him, molding into the curvature of the rock. Before he could differentiate her from stone, she was on top of him, rolling him to his back. Marek scrambled to snag what he could of her as she viciously clawed at him, beating his chest with bunched fists, writhing under his control.

  He stilled, his hold on her slackening, when the familiar texture of cold steel bore down against his throat. So, the little she-devil had found a dagger.

  Ronan, he realized. His thoughts raced in circles.

  How much had he gathered about her? Not enough.

  Did she have the strength and courage to do it? Possibly.

  Had she used a weapon before? From the way the blade was shaking, shaving off tiny bits of skin with each quiver of her hand, it was hard to tell. Several tactics crossed his mind before deciding which path to follow. He knew what he must do — he’d found himself in worse situations before, but did he want out of this one? A ravishing creature with a dagger sat raving mad on his chest, and strangely, he rather liked it. His heartbeat quickened with each breath. “Do it,” he told her, growling the words. “Nothing would be easier.”

  Hot thighs constricted his torso, clenching tighter with each rise and fall of his chest. Marek studied her, his eyes unwavering. The dagger on his throat pressed deeper, and he swallowed hard against it, unsure of her next move. Countering any man, instincts would have taken over, and he would have gutted his opponent by now, but never before had he been pinned by a mere woman.