Marriage Deal With the Outlaw & the Warrior's Damsel in Distress & the Knight's Scarred Maiden : Harlequin Historical August 2017 (9781488021640)

by St. Harper George; Fuller, Meriel; Locke, Nicole

  Now these men looked as though they meant to haul her away, so she widened her stance. She waited because there was no other place for her to go. She’d fought those men last night and she would do it again.

  Rhain faced them all and pointed to the boy. ‘Take those bags and help her return home.’

  When he turned to her, she felt his stare, felt the animosity from him. She had meant to insult him with her comment and succeeded. He’d saved her and she’d lumped him in with her would-be rapists. But he still refused to take her.

  After his generous coin for her cakes, after he complimented them and her, after he saved her, she thought he was kind. But in the light of morning, she reflected on the other sides to him. The fact he was a mercenary and he kept his hood up, as if hiding his face, like a wanted man. The fact he knocked those men unconscious with deadly accuracy and today she heard the cold hardness in his voice. Then there were his shadows. Always his shadows.

  She didn’t know this man at all. He fully intended to leave her here even knowing Rudd awaited her. She had no other compensation to offer for her passage, nothing to barter with except his sweet tooth.

  ‘I made the rest of the cakes,’ she said in a rush.

  Stillness. Unnatural. As if she’d shocked him. No sharp breath, no blinking of his amber eyes. His face, his body as unmoving as stone now covered with heavy mist that was turning to rain falling harder and soaking them.

  It darkened his clothes, his countenance. His implacable eyes swirled with more emotions than she could name. More emotions than he’d shown last night when he stopped those men. When he tended her wounds.

  ‘You made twenty-five cakes last night,’ he said, enunciating each word until they held a bite.

  ‘And I made twenty-five more this morning,’ she added.

  He leaned forward as if to strangle her and just held back. Even so, she felt his anger, surprise and displeasure as his eyes raked down her now-drenched form.

  She knew she was lacking, knew she was disfigured. But she could cook and bake; she was resourceful. When he left last night, she’d gathered her strength as she thought through her plan of leaving the only home she had. When she’d made up her mind, she left for the kitchens.

  It made sense for Rhain to take her. He had to know her situation. There was no way she could get his money back and consequently she made the rest of the cakes. Even though the kitchen’s heat had pained her more than ever and her ribs protested her every move. But it was worth it because she wanted to thank him for last night and for the expected ride today.

  She didn’t think it would come to this. That she would be bargaining a life for herself over some flour and honey. That she would be using a cake to prove she was worthy of him taking her.

  ‘We have no horse for you,’ he said.

  The village didn’t have any spares. ‘I didn’t expect a horse.’

  Her heart flipped and churned until she was sure he would notice. Something had changed, but she tried not to get her hopes up. He wasn’t saying no any more, though nothing he said yet proved otherwise. He merely talked of horses and convenience, but those were obstacles, not refusal. This couldn’t truly be about his sweet tooth, but exactly what it was about, she didn’t know.

  His tightly locked countenance told her nothing. Especially since even though his hood was up, he was almost too precisely beautiful to be real. The only indications that he was real were the slight exasperation of his breath and the fleeting emotions in his amber eyes.

  ‘I’m not a savior,’ he said.

  She, of all people, knew no one was and that she didn’t deserve one. ‘I’m not asking you to be.’

  He nodded once, scanned his eyes around the men before he said, ‘She rides with me.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Rhain regretted his action immediately. It wasn’t the delay of departing the village, though by the time they strapped Helissent’s few possessions to the horses, and sat her atop his own, the rain had begun to fall in earnest.

  The sky was darkening in every direction. The storm was coming and soon even a modicum of comfort, of carrying on a conversation, would be denied them.

  Even that he could ignore. He couldn’t ignore the woman bundled until he shouldn’t feel her and yet her trembles became his. He didn’t know why she trembled, it could be the cold. It could be fear. Over Rudd and leaving her home? Or did she fear them? If she did fear his band of mercenaries, it wasn’t enough to make her stay away.

  It didn’t matter he and Nicholas came from nobility. Their lineage was in the past. They were no more or less than what they made of themselves now, which were killers for a price.

  Yet this woman had begged to travel with them. He didn’t need to guess why and anyone who had suffered as she had would have to be stubborn and brave.

  But his admiration for her or her stubbornness wasn’t why she rode with him, why he felt her trembles. Why he hadn’t kept his hood up for her last night.

  For he hadn’t.

  And she hadn’t done what every other woman had ever done. He’d expected it, had taken advantage of it at one point of his life. His face had simply been his reality.

  She’d stared and then averted her eyes. It had been almost amusing, if not for the disconcerting fact he actually wanted her eyes on him.

  He didn’t recognize what it was about her, but he had felt it the moment he entered the inn and it raged like an inferno through him when he realized those men meant to harm her.

  Then in the quiet of her home, she’d allowed his touch. She had braced herself, hid her gasps, but she still let him close enough to feel her.

  He hadn’t thought to brace himself as he touched her. He’d been intent only to see if she’d fractured a rib, only wanted to relieve her pain with the ointment. So he hadn’t been ready for how his own body reacted.

  The soft heat of her skin, the way she smelled. The feel and textures of her underneath his fingertips. All of it should have made him only think of her injuries, but that wasn’t what he had felt at first.

  First he felt her as a man would a woman and desire recklessly arced through him. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak because he had to choke the sounds of need clamoring suddenly inside him.

  Unexpected, and all because of her. Only her. His reaction had nothing to do with his lack of female companionship. Over the years more women than he could count had bent over him or abruptly sat in his lap. Trailed their hands and fingers along any part of him they could reach and he’d felt nothing.

  All of that dead to him because he had to make it so. Because when he’d learned the truth of his lineage, he could never take matters further with a woman.

  So he hadn’t been prepared he’d feel anything when he touched her. He shouldn’t have felt anything when she was hurting.

  All of it was made worse when she took his frozen state as revulsion because she spoke those broken words about her scars. Only then did he realize too late what else he felt.

  The roughness warring with the softness of her skin underneath his fingers. That was enough to jar him, to remind him she was injured, and he needed to check for broken bones and apply the ointment.

  But it didn’t stop his desire for her, not when she inspected herself and he’d wished it could be his fingers trailing along the front of her ribcage and the gentle swells hinted there.

  Desire, which was all the more torturous when he yanked off his tunic and watched her eyes widen, her lips part.

  Felt the echoing of his desire from the air on his bared skin and the tightening of his body. As he stood half-naked in the dark intimate quiet of the room, she was suddenly someone he needed. His mind and body in complete conflict with each other, he’d viciously stripped his tunic and tied the ends.

  All to bind her and unerringly tighten his need as
he walked slowly around and watched what the tight binding revealed, what the thin chemise did not.

  Her slender shape, the curves of her breasts, the indentation of her waist, the breadth of her collarbones, the curve of her jaw. Her long, long legs. Another circle and he knew exactly the height of those legs, the width and shape of her hips, the location of each jutting bone and all her womanly softness.

  All of her, every inch of her in proportion to him. Just a few inches shorter, just enough so when he pressed and lifted her against him, she’d fit. They’d fit.

  He couldn’t leave her home quick enough. To get out into the cool night air. To Nicholas’s sharp wit and even sharper watchful eyes.

  But not fast enough. He’d heard her thank him and felt the visceral regret, the frustrating anger that his life wasn’t different and could never be. Then he’d closed the door and left her behind.

  Except she didn’t stay behind. He did what he could to separate from her on this journey. Kept his own conflicted counsel, allowed her to find her own way when they stopped to rest. The men, at least, fed her and shared their water.

  It did no good, he still felt her trembles and he bundled her as much as he could against the cold. It wasn’t her fault he didn’t have enough sense to get out of the rain.

  * * *

  The day was ending and Helissent could barely acknowledge her surroundings. Hours like this in the downpour. They didn’t even try to stay dry. There was no point. The wind would merely sweep away capes and blankets and hoods.

  Maybe it was the rain, but there was no rest. Allowing everyone to relieve themselves only once, Rhain kept the slow but unrelenting pace.

  And the almost brutal silence. It was as if he said what he needed to and then refused to say any more. She thought at first it was the rain, but the others talked though they sputtered and shouted to be heard.

  No, it was only for her he kept the quiet. Kept his anger. He had not wanted her on this trip and let her know his displeasure. Which made his reason for making her ride with him all the more confusing.

  As did him swiftly pulling his cloak over him and her, and yanking her blanket to cover her. All of it seemed to cushion them from the driving rain, but didn’t soften his utter silence. Subsequently, she was left with only her thoughts, only what she could observe. Both were like a downpour on her senses.

  She’d left her home. Her village. A place where people knew who she was, who knew what happened to her and allowed her still in their presence.

  She hadn’t thought of that when she decided to leave. She had only been thinking it wasn’t safe any more. But was she any safer outside her village, and from the villagers, who knew her home had burned to the ground with her family in it? Who knew she survived when she shouldn’t have, when she tried not to because she failed to save her sister as she had promised?

  Her village was her home and her cross to bear, and she had left it.

  No. She was forced from it. The pain of the loss, the anger at her attack and what she had to do today was overwhelming. What other choice did she have? None.

  She didn’t even guess if this was a punishment for her shame and cowardice. She knew it was and would endure it as she had everything else.

  But she didn’t want to think these thoughts, to break down as she had done a thousand times in the past and pick herself up as she’d done just as often. Not in front of strangers.

  These mercenaries were strangers and remained that way all day. Once in a while they’d glance at her or Rhain, but mostly they talked amongst themselves in languages she didn’t know. When they stopped they were polite, helped her, but for the most part they left her alone.

  Even more so as Rhain’s frowns grew fiercer and his eyes held some turbulent light that caused Nicholas’s gaze to grow more watchful.

  She wondered about their strong friendship. Nicholas, a giant scar-faced man, eloquent with his words, but rough with his actions, and holding himself as proudly as Rhain.

  But she didn’t know about the other men whose ways with each other were strikingly different than the villagers. It wasn’t only their ways that confused her. It was their ease with each other…and with her.

  As they rode in the rain and her hair plastered to her side so it no longer hid her scars, she expected eyes that were bright with malicious curiosity or with horror and revulsion. She expected some to either resent or pity her. These were looks she’d received her entire life, from villagers, from other strangers.

  Yet, she received none of those reactions. In fact, she didn’t receive any reactions except that same curiosity as when she’d approached them that morning. As if all that concerned them was why she rode with them and shared her cakes, not who or what she was.

  At least the rain eventually stopped as did the wind, and they could all lower their protection. The sun warmed her, but it did little to dry them. Clothes and leather squished and chaffed. Her journey, her hopes, her hardships mimicked by the weather.

  * * *

  The sun was much lower in the sky by the time the men in front of them slowed. When Rhain stopped their own horse, Helissent’s entire body was equally seized and rocking forward.

  Her skin was terribly tight. She could do nothing when Rhain set his hands on her hips and dismounted with ease. He kept one hand on her while she clutched the saddle.

  ‘Can you dismount?’ he said.

  His first words to her since they left and she couldn’t seem to answer him with a yes or no. In some part of her she heard him call Nicholas over. Nicholas, who with one eye assessed the situation immediately and walked to the other side of her.

  All of which made her nervous. Alarmed. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What needs to be done.’ Nicholas grabbed her ankle and pushed her leg up. While agony arced through her leg, Rhain pulled her towards him and off the horse.

  Then he let her legs dangle as tingling, then pain, cut through every one of her bones and every inch of her skin. She glared at Nicholas, but he’d already returned to his own horse. Accordingly, all she had was Rhain, who still hadn’t set her down.

  Here she’d vowed she would be strong, wouldn’t slow him down, and undermined her words by being unable to properly dismount a horse. ‘Set me down.’

  ‘Your legs can’t take your weight.’

  She didn’t care. Humiliation was warring with other emotions inside her. Like him securely holding her. His hands, his body becoming familiar when they shouldn’t. She didn’t need security, or familiarity. She’d rode with this man, seemed more saturated by him than the rain, and the ache inside her was beginning to hurt more than her legs or body.

  She needed to be left alone. ‘I can walk.’

  He eased his hold, and she slid. Her body shuddered when her feet first pressed against the ground.

  ‘All this for York?’ he said, as if he teased, but was frustrated that he did so.

  She saw him laugh with his men at the inn, but never any lightness directed towards her and certainly not last night when he’d almost killed those men.

  Cold. Merciless, though he’d let them live. Then his anger at her this morning.

  She only had to get to York. A large bustling city, where she could get lost on days she remembered the innkeepers, and punish herself when memories of her sister and family became too much to bear.

  York would be her inn with people and strangers and regulars. People would need to eat and she’d find her way there somehow.

  ‘There’s no other place for me,’ she said as he let her go. She would have toppled to the ground except she grabbed on to his horse at the last moment.

  A horse he slowly led to the others that were being released of their burdens.

  She couldn’t let go and gripped the saddle as her legs wobbled in some sort of painful shuffle. But the ho
rse ignored her as did Rhain. As did the rest of the men. Because of that she felt useless, but not foolish.

  Again, a reaction she didn’t expect. There was no cruel laughter, no pointing out her deficiencies. She had forced herself on this trip and was obviously a weakness to men like them. Not only for her being a woman, but one who could barely stand after a day’s ride.

  But she merited no more than a passing glance. Even in full sunlight when she knew her scars and the sloping of her eye were all the more hideously visible.

  She couldn’t make sense of it, subsequently she dismissed it because they were tired, soaked, hungry. Their thoughts were probably on their comfort and food. Already Rhain was talking with the younger man, Allen. Already they were removing the saddles, feeding the horses; it was time she was useful.

  Her feet protested every step until she could ignore the pain as she had in the past. Work would help, but that would be difficult. The men bustled around her with purpose and ease. They had a system going, one honed out of years of working together.

  Rhain was right. She had no place here. Yet if she could contribute nothing here, what would become of her in York? She truly would be on the streets.

  She had nothing else now but herself. And as much shame and regret she had with her family, she wouldn’t let the innkeepers down. They had spent time caring for her, and had written about it.

  The parchment. She’d recovered it in the mud outside her home. She hadn’t had an opportunity to read it. But it was wrapped and hidden in a pouch. A parchment with words from the healer to the innkeepers. About a time when she was a child, where only immense pain encompassed her world. Where she knew only loss. Her erudite French father, her caretaking English mother, her baby sister, who’d put her hand trustingly in hers. All gone. All lost.

  She would always carry that shame. Felt it with every glance given her way. Ensured that people did see her scars so she would feel the pain and yet…

  Yet, she would never try to end her life again because John and Anne had believed in her.