“By God’s eyes,” he muttered. Alexander shifted to face the door, welcoming the cold, hard wood beneath him and the throbbing pain of his wound. His life was dedicated to war, against any who dared threaten Scotland’s freedom.
Not a troubled Englishwoman who held no faith in men.
He tried to rest, but the sorrow within her gray eyes, too close to his own turbulent emotions, lingered on his mind. So he focused on the muted voices of the men below, his duty, and the many reasons it would be foolish to care about her.
But as the thick veil of sleep fell over Alexander, the barriers he’d erected to keep thoughts of her from his mind fell away. Steeped in tender thoughts of her, he drifted off into a contented slumber.
The next day, with hours of travel behind them, Alexander guided his mount out of a glen. He took in the new gown he’d stolen after they’d rode from the inn. The new dress, though worn, dipped daringly low on Nichola’s chest. The ill fit couldn’t be helped. Out in the wilds, the luxury of choice eluded him.
He scanned the sun-ripened grass sweeping across the secluded valley with a scowl; the scant sleep of last night had done little to ease his exhaustion. All because of a gray-eyed, outspoken lass who’d haunted his dreams.
If he’d bedded her in his dreams, that he could have accepted. With her siren’s body and her seductive eyes, a man would have to be daft not to want her. Instead, in the realm of his sleep, she’d come to him needing a friend. Someone she could turn to. Trust.
He tightened his hold on the reins as he glanced down at Nichola. She leaned against him, but with her shoulders sagging and her face pale with fatigue; exhaustion, not desire, guided her action.
He reined his steed around a clump of weathered rocks jutting from the soil. What did her opinion of him matter? Within a fortnight, with her ransom paid, she would be reinstalled within her home. He will have rejoined the rebels; his mind steeped in planning their next assault on English troops.
A sudden gust of wind, cool and thick with the scent of rain, blustered past. The field of grass, which was scattered with heather, bowed beneath its force.
Alexander searched the horizon. A dark bank of clouds rolling in from the west promised a storm. With the night approaching, they would have to find cover. He’d have to reconsider his original intent. The only dwelling he dared stay in was another day’s travel north.
However disreputable, he’d not risk returning to the tavern or any other village. “A storm is brewing. We will need to be finding shelter soon.”
She tensed against his chest. Caution blanketed her eyes as she tilted her face toward him. “Where will we stay?”
“If the weather holds, a hideout about an hour north.”
“In Scotland?” Though whispered, nerves rattled her voice.
“Aye.”
“Please, if you release me, I swear I will not tell them your name.”
“No.” As the land began to smooth out, he urged his mount into a canter, wanting to reach shelter before the rain began. “My decision is long made.”
At Alexander’s sharp reply, Nichola turned and stared straight ahead; the rugged land before them as untamed as the man who claimed her hostage. Her enemy. A man she should fear with her every breath.
And didn’t.
How could she? Last eve he’d saved her from a brutal attack. After, he’d proved true to his word and had left her untouched. Neither could she forget his tenderness when he’d checked on her during her nightmare.
Was he indeed a noble man of honor?
Against the thrum of hoofbeats, the land raced past. Flowers misted the field in a rainbow of colors. But not even the spellbinding scenery eased her worries. What of this night? Or the days ahead?
With her response to his previous kiss, would Alexander keep his word and leave her untouched? Alexander? She caught the horse’s withers as the wind whipped at her face. That she thought of him by his first name disturbed her further.
As the ground angled up, the Scot slowed his horse. His hand moved to gently clasp her shoulder. “What is wrong?”
His protective touch melted her resistance further. “Naught.”
“You are trembling.”
Nichola leaned away from his touch. “I . . .” How did she explain her reaction was from needs he inspired, not fear? She couldn’t. An ache built in her heart. Was she so lonely, so desperate that she’d find comfort with a Scottish rogue?
“Lie against me.” It was an order. At her noncompliance, a deep sigh rumbled in his throat. “Leaning forward will achieve naught but cause your muscles to ache.”
Nichola yielded, stiffening when her back rested against solid muscle. He wrapped his hand around the flat of her stomach. She tried to ignore the steady beat of his heart; the reassurance his nearness gave her.
The assurance was an illusion.
Over the years, since her parents’ horrible death, trying to save her brother from his self-destructive ways had shattered her beliefs of love and happiness she’d once held as a child. The betrayal of her fiancé severed any remaining belief.
Duty had kept her sane. Given her purpose. However much she dreaded returning home, to learn if her brother had indeed committed murder, or to face the army of creditors they were unable to pay, she must.
Neither could she dismiss the thought of Alexander’s anger when he learned their coffers were bare. Somehow, before then, she must escape.
And use caution. As Alexander had shown her when he’d appeared in the solar dressed as an Englishman, the man could appear to be anyone he chose. From the wanton state of her new dress, anyone she met would believe her a whore, not a lady. As if she could trust anyone this close to the border.
Alexander guided the horse toward what she recognized as battered ruins of a church. A broken cross lay near the entry like a forgotten promise. How ironic. They would seek shelter in a holy place that now lay in shambles. A sanctuary as battered as her heart.
The churning gray clouds overhead erased any hint of sunshine and cast the warm and sunny late afternoon into a dismal mire. A cool breeze rushed past. Fat drops of cold rain began to splatter the earth.
He drew his steed to a halt before the weathered rock and dismounted, keeping the reins tight in his hand. “Come now,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her waist.
She tried to push his hand away, but it didn’t budge. “I can dismount by myself.”
“Aye, I am sure you can.” As if pushing aside an empty trencher, he removed her hand, then lifted her from the saddle and set her before him.
Nichola fought against her awareness of him as a man, ashamed his mere proximity made her shiver. “Must you find every excuse to touch me?”
He stared at her a long moment, then his gaze flicked to her mouth.
She held her breath, unsure if it was because he would kiss her, or that he wouldn’t.
Alexander lifted her chin with his forefinger, the chilled air encircling them in a dizzying rush. The fresh taste of rain tingling on her lips. He slid his thumb over her lower lip; sensations strummed through her to her very core.
Saint’s breath. The last thing she needed was his attraction to her. Or for him to see she was drawn to him as well. He was a knight. A man driven to war. His decisions quick. Unforgiving.
A muscle worked in his jaw, then he released her. “Stay here.” He removed a taper and several other items and strode toward the tumble of timber and rock. At the weathered, but partially standing entry, he turned back as though unable to help himself. His cobalt eyes darkened with a dangerous edge, that of a predator.
Her heart stilled. Had he felt her pulse race? Sensed her body tighten at his touch? Or did his ire arise from his touching her in a manner far outside that of his captive?
In the way a man caresses a woman he desires?
Gripping the hilt of his dagger, he turned, ducked under the timber, and disappeared inside the darkened cavity.
Nichola sagged back. To allow him to b
elieve that a bond could grow between them was a mistake.
But when he’d touched her face, the rough pads of his fingertips gentle against her skin; however wrong, she’d been unable to stop herself from wishing for more.
Alexander emerged from the darkened ruins. He gave a sharp nod toward the decaying structure. “It will do for the night.”
Raindrops splattered against her face as she stared at him. Her breath wavered as she turned toward the ruins. “It is unstable.”
“And has stood so for more than a decade.” He held out his hand. “Come.”
She hesitated, wanting to refuse, but the warning in his eyes assured her—he would make her comply, willing or not. She dismissed telling him that since her parents’ death she feared the dark, more so during a storm. He already held too much power over her.
Catching the length of her dress with her fingers at each side, she lifted the hem above the fallen rock and walked forward. As she passed him, he tensed. Gathering her courage, Nichola hurried inside the murky opening.
Age mixed with the cool taste of rain greeted her, but the faintest scent of myrrh lingered as well. Her heart pounded as her eyes slowly adjusted to the candlelit interior. One wall was ready to collapse, but the remainder of the small enclosure remained sturdy and proud.
Near the farthest wall stood the decaying remnants of an altar, but she could envision the adornments that would have decorated the humble church: woven tapestries edged with gold thread, finely crafted goblets, carved figures of saints proudly displayed, and other, simpler offerings.
Thunder rumbled in the heavens above.
Nerves had her glancing up. In the wilting light, the gnarled beams shifted into ominous shadows. A shiver stole through her, and she crossed her arms against her chest.
Images of the accident with her parents flashed in her mind. The screams. The pain. The unbearable grief.
Please. Not now. She fought to quell the panic that a thunderstorm evoked.
On her next breath, she focused on the three large cracks near the battered entry; crevices where the rain would be able to slip inside.
Alexander’s footsteps halted behind her. His breath, warm and steady, whispered against her neck. “Nichola?”
The strength of his presence lured her to lean against him, to allow him to shelter her from her fears. By sheer will, she resisted his invisible pull. To allow him knowledge of her weakness would be a grave error.
She gathered her composure and turned to face him.
He studied her a moment with a shrewd eye. “The horse is bedded down in another part of the ruins. With the storm upon us, we will remain here for the night.”
Until dawn she would be confined within the aged stone walls with Alexander. A thought that did little to ease her nerves. “It is too early to sleep.” But however tired, sleep would evade her this night.
“Aye, it is.” He walked past her with the bedroll in his hands, his muscled frame at odds with the decay surrounding him. Near the sidewall, he knelt and brushed away any loose pebbles, then spread out a woolen blanket.
She didn’t want to sleep within inches of him, but she had little choice if she wanted to stay warm on this dreary night.
Another blast of thunder sounded, and she jumped. The steady beat of rain increased.
Sweat beaded her brow. Fighting for calm, Nichola walked to the entry. In the waning light, water streamed down the pile of rocks to spill onto a fallen pillar covered by moss. Hard, steady pounding sheets that saturated the earth. Wind ripped at the leaves, tossing saplings to and fro as if shaken by God himself.
Lightning severed the sky in a jagged streak. Thunder rumbled, this time closer. It took every shred of willpower not to curl up into a ball and cry.
Nichola hated the gnawing fear, but she couldn’t prevent another shudder, or the all too vivid images of another time during such a thunderstorm; the rain had battered the ground and smeared pools of blood. The raw cries of terror had mingled with those of death.
“Lass?”
She whirled to find Alexander behind her. “You startled me,” she said, barely quelling the urge to scream.
Alexander studied her. Startled mayhap, but as she’d stared at the rain pouring down, her face had grown deathly pale. Whatever memories she struggled against, they were far more than those that left one merely startled.
“You are upset,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as he would be to a frightened mare.
“Do you expect any other?” she challenged, tinges of fear breaking through her voice. “I am held hostage in a foreign land, wear a gown I would not allow my maid to glance upon, and stand within a hovel that might crumble before the morn.”
“Your concerns are valid, but that is not what is bothering you, is it?”
Her finger rubbed at the locket hanging from her neck. “Do you always pry into people’s lives?”
“Is that what I am doing?”
Nichola turned toward the downpour, her shoulders as rigid as a sentinel. “I would rather not speak of it.”
With the falling rain curtaining the entry, her composure faltered, and he understood. “You do not like the rain?” His question was whispered between them with unexpected tenderness.
She skimmed her fingers along the damp, pitted stone; her shallow breaths audible. “At least the water is not running inside. The floor will remain dry.”
He should leave her alone, but her avoidance of his question piqued his curiosity. “What happened?”
Nichola shook her head, but her body began to shudder, betraying the truth of her reaction.
Alexander stepped up behind her. He clasped her shoulders gently. “I know the way of grief, of a hurt so cutting you pray for death.” Shaken he’d betrayed such a personal fact, he released her and stepped back.
Never had he revealed the anguish he’d lived through after his father’s death to anyone before. How could he admit such a thing, especially to an Englishwoman?
She turned. Grief-stricken eyes searched his with sympathy.
By God’s eyes he needed nothing from her! He turned on his heel and started across the chamber. Her ragged exhalation stopped him. He curled his hand around his dagger, torn between duty and compassion.
Compassion won.
Alexander spun on his heel to face her. “Tell me what troubles you!”
A sad smile touched her lips. “Must you always have answers?”
“Not always.”
“Is it not enough that you have taken me from my home?”
The soft accusation struck true. She was his hostage, a stranger whose life was opposed to his. “Aye, ’tis enough.” He wanted no more and turned to put distance between them.
“Alexander.”
At her familiar use of his name, awareness slid through him. And something else he barely recognized, a flicker of hope. “Aye?”
“I . . . Will you look at me?”
Rain eased outside, the slap of water against the stone quieting to a slow, steady thrum. Inside him, ’twas as if a storm brewed. He drew in a deep breath of air until it was as if his chest was on fire.
The soft scrape of slippers on dirt sounded in his wake.
Go away.
“Please,” she whispered.
Tension hummed through his body as he slowly exhaled. He wouldn’t ask again of her sorrows; already he’d trod on a personal path he had no right to take. He turned.
A tear slipping down her cheek had Alexander drawing her into his arms.
She splayed her hands against his chest and tried to push him away. “Do not.”
He ignored her command. Tremors rippled through her slender frame as he held her close. Although she’d deny it, if only for this moment, she needed him.
“I want to help you,” Alexander said, damning the truth of his words; but finding with her, he was helpless to do otherwise. He rested his chin against her brow. An unexpected softness coiled within him, filling him with a peace he’d not experienced s
ince his father’s death. The thrum of rain echoed around them and for this one moment, everything seemed right.
“This once,” he said, “trust me.”
“I do not think—”
“Then do not.” The pounding of her heart slowed as he held her; pleasing him. Then, like a rose unfurling its petals, the tension within her body eased until she lay within his arms in acceptance.
How long they remained standing together as the storm unleashed its fury upon the land he didn’t know. Or care. He ran his fingers through her hair and murmured encouragement, damning whoever had hurt this part of her. And whoever had left her distrusting men.
The warmth of her tears traced down his tunic. Alexander realized he wanted her trust and more. A bond that never could be. For the moment they’d found common ground, but it was far outweighed by the reality of their countries at war; of his vow to his father; and of the fact that he’d abducted her.
But he’d not worry about issues out of his reach. Not now when she was within his arms.
Alexander tucked her head against his shoulder as he would a frightened child. “They say that when the rain falls, it is a fairy’s favorite time,” he murmured, his hand threading through her hair to the end, only to begin again. “They dance on the puddles, and frolic on the beads of water as the raindrops cascade to the earth.”
Thick, auburn lashes lifted to reveal the aftermath of tears, and doubt wedged in her gaze. “Fairies?”
“Aye,” he said. A lock of her silk strands slid across his cheek. “The wee folk who live in fairy hills scattered about Scotland.” He arched a surprised brow. “Do not tell me you have never heard of them?”
She paused as if trying to decide if she should believe him, then shook her head. “No . . . I . . .” Nichola looked down, but Alexander caught her chin with his finger and gently lifted her face toward him.
“Did your mother never tell you stories afore bed? Tales to fill your dreams as you slept?”
Her lower lip trembled. “She died when I was six.”
He gave her a gentle hug, remembering the loss of his own mother at the birthing of his youngest brother, Duncan. Of his inconsolable grief. And that of his family. “I am sorry.”
His Captive Page 5