Chapter 2
He was enjoying his little fantasy and had actually forgotten where he was and what he was doing. When the fleshy hand pushed against his back again, Alex whirled around with a growl, his long mane of greasy hair whipping into his eyes like wet string. The strands clung to his damp skin, the spidery web of tangled ebony threads blinding him. The man behind him reared back for one moment at the ferocity unleashed on him, then realized the futility of Alex’s struggle and burst into hearty laughter. He shoved him again, and Alex lurched forward, stumbling to his knees. The bones of his kneecaps crunched, and a slice of pain traced a trail of agony through the undead portions of his legs.
He grit his teeth, stifling whatever sound his body felt compelled to make. His body had long since lost control over this situation, but Alex refused to let any of these men see anything that might dare cross his mind, including pain.
“On yer feet, Campbell.”
The man kicked Alex in the back with all the strength he could muster in his pudgy body. Alex pitched forward, his face and chest scraping along the harsh planking as he slid several feet and smashed into a large and very sturdy crate. Needles of pain sliced through his flesh where the rough splinters gouged his skin, and he thought his head might be split open from the impact with the crate. The pain was nothing near what he’d felt before, but the discomfort, combined with the dull roar in his legs, was enough to spur the twinge of anger he’d been feeling into a tidal wave of fury.
He rolled to his back. He could barely see through the snarls of his hair, but when the man leaned down, Alex pulled back his shackled legs and kicked, straight and hard, into the massive bulk of the man’s stomach. The guard’s breath exploded from his lungs and, with a cry of both pain and surprise, he flew backwards. His head smashed against another equally hard crate with a sickening thump.
Alexander smiled. This time he knew the smile was real because he felt the pleasure pouring through him.
The sound of a woman’s furious scream pierced through the confusion, and Alex knew someone was in some serious trouble. He wished them luck far better than his own.
Several pairs of rough hands grabbed his shoulders, and another hand twisted into his hair. He let them haul him to his feet. There wasn’t much he could do to fight them from his shackles, but whatever happened to him was worth it. Knocking that little cocksucker out had been the most satisfying moment of the last nine months, and a man in chains had very few.
The hand in his hair twisted more viciously and yanked him forward and down until he came face-to-face with the broker. Thomas Barton’s mud-brown eyes filled with a ferocity belied by his thin body.
“Now why did you go and do that?” Barton asked.
“Felt like it,” Alex said.
“Well, Campbell,” Barton snarled, “that little stunt may just have cost you your last chance. If he’s dead, I—”
Alexander’s busted lip lifted in a half-smile. “Do you think you’re that lucky today, Barton?” His gaze drifted over the lifeless man on the dock, satisfied with the puddle of blood that leaked across the planks. “If ’tis true, you can repay me later for the service I’ve done you. Wagner is a waste of humanity, and you know it.”
“Was it worth risking your neck, Campbell?”
Alex shot another glance toward the man and heaved a sigh. “Don’t know, but I feel so much better.”
Alex tossed the hair away from his face. His skin felt itchy and raw where the splinters had embedded, and the top of his skull felt like it had been beaten with a hammer. His gaze hovered over the dock and the mass of men surrounding him, then he attempted to shrug off several pairs of hands with a shake of his shoulders. They obviously didn’t trust him. He couldn’t imagine why.
“You can lay off, fellas. I’m not going anywhere.”
He glanced at Barton, raised his brow, and Barton nodded. When the men retreated—not too far, he noticed—Alex brought his glance back to Barton.
“If the man is dead,” Barton said, “I can do nothing further to help you.”
“’Tis grateful I am for all you’ve done on the voyage, but no one can help me. ’Tis the end of the line, and I’ll not survive here. This isnae home to me. Better had I died at Dunbar. I’d be lying in the soil of home with my kinsmen.”
“You could be lying in a mass grave at Durham Cathedral,” Barton said. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Campbell. I got you here healthy. You’re a lucky man.”
“Doesnae seem so to me,” Alex said.
Barton stared at him for a minute then his glance shifted. A swirl of yellow cloth came from nowhere, and a sudden aroma curled around Alex and stole his breath away. The perfume was too much to bear. The scent of it almost brought tears to his eyes because it smelled like beauty, like poetry, like life.
Behind his back, his dead hands clenched into fists. His little glimpse of heaven had come to pay a visit. He glanced at her through the snarls of hair tangling around his face. She was delicate, young, and achingly lovely. So much beauty in one package could kill a man, especially one half dead already.
She drew herself up straight, trying to command a certain amount of authority despite her diminutive stature. She barely reached halfway up his chest. Everything in him wanted to look at her, but something in his mind cautioned him to not take the chance. A woman like this might give him reason enough to live, and he was done with that.
From the corner of his eye, he saw her toss her hair impatiently over her shoulder, and her tiny chin lifted with a touching elegance and a firm resolve. She was a proud, determined little thing and the most ballsy woman he’d ever encountered. A woman after his own heart and another reason to steer clear of her.
“Master Barton,” she said, “I watched the little altercation involving this man. Can you not control your own men? It’s unpardonable that a bound man should be treated so viciously.”
“I agree, mistress, and I’ve the matter in hand—”
She’d already formed her own judgments about that. Words fell from her mouth in an endless stream, sweet words of justice and humanity, words that threatened to unlock his dead heart. He heard them stir the air around him, and he tried desperately to shut them out. Alex could barely concentrate on her words, in awe that she should even be discussing him, let alone showing concern.
“This man may have been seriously injured. He should be inspected immediately and his wounds treated.”
Alex shook his head, trying to make sense of this impossible situation. She would bring him back to life.
Cannae have that.
She had a clean linen handkerchief in her small fist, stitched with rows of tiny yellow petals that matched her dress. She was a rare flower in this expanse of green forests and muddy rivers, and a precious treasure locked in the wilds of this world. She also appeared to be the kind of woman who made men do stupid things, and Alex had decided he was done with stupid things. He’d done enough to last a lifetime, and being bound in chains proved it. He’d grown tired of his body being cramped and confined by metal. Cromwell and King Charles could both go fuck themselves now that they’d fucked him and tossed him aside like an old whore.
Alex shook his head again to dislodge his random thoughts and discovered her reaching up towards his face.
Christ, jackass, pay attention! She’s too close.
He wrenched away from her fingers as they grazed him. A beautiful, brave girl like this could capture the tattered shreds of what remained of his heart and he had just enough left to stay alive. He squeezed his heart closed a little tighter, ordering it to beat a calm rhythm, daring it to think about the girl.
“Stand still,” she ordered. “The blood is dripping near your eye, and there’s a splinter dangerously close to—”
“Don’t touch me, woman,” he snarled.
She snatched her hand back as though fire had shot from his mouth. She gave him a puzzled look. Her beautifully arched brows drew down in a frown, and her lips pursed, beautif
ul, lush lips the color of summer roses. She was not used to being questioned or challenged.
“Why ever not?” she asked. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t want your help.” He whirled toward her, flinging the hair from his face. “I don’t want your help, your concern, or your pity. Find another beast to care for.”
She made a soothing sound, some little tsk-tsk noise that tore a gash in his closed heart and threatened to open it. While he struggled to repair the rip, she stood on tiptoe and reached toward him once again. Her body slid against his like cool water, and her voice threatened to drown him in self-pity and steal his resolve.
“Shh,” she cooed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Alex jerked his face away. “I’m not an animal to tame, madam.”
“Then don’t act like one,” she commanded.
The dark blue of her eyes sparkled in the sun. Had he ever seen eyes this wondrous before? He could see her. Inside. It was most disconcerting. Had he ever seen someone’s spirit so completely manifested in their eyes? This little wench had enough spirit inside to burn him to cinders. She inspected him now, her eyes sweeping him from head to toe, with a courage he could not fathom.
What had happened to his reputation in the last year? The very threat of his presence had been known to cause grown men to hide like women. If he’d lost his power to intimidate, he wished someone would slice his throat and have it done. He’d never be able to return to the Highlands.
Christ, this girl was not even afraid of him. What was bloody left of Alexander Campbell if he couldn’t even get a girl to cower? He would have thrown his hands up in the air and admitted defeat, but it was hard to do with shackles. Instead he decided to give it one last try. Maybe he was just tired. He could make the wench back down if he could make her shut up.
“If I’m to be treated as an animal,” Alex said, “I see no choice but to act the part. Beware of my growl, madam. ’Tis only a prelude and nowhere near as deadly as my bite.”
She studied him, her gaze perusing his face as though to determine the truth of his words. He gulped and met her eyes with his sternest stare, the one that had sent Douglas McClendon fleeing into the night after a rather brief encounter. This woman held more bravery in her than the entire Clan McClendon. She shook her small head and had the audacity to keep talking.
“I’m not worried about your bite, but growl if you must. Still, you’re unlike any animal I’ve seen. You seem more like a dragon, sir. Fierce, unpredictable, and almost”—her gaze dropped for a moment, lingering on his shoulders—“mythic.”
“Then slay me and have it done, madam, because I don’t wish to be coddled to death by a woman that reeks of some scent I cannae abide.”
“Stop being so damn nasty,” she huffed. “You’re the most obstinate man I’ve ever met.”
“We’ve not met, dragon slayer, nor will we. Now lay off attempting to touch me, or I will give you a memory to last a lifetime.”
His brows rose, and he favored her with the most seductive glance he could manage given the pain wracking his body.
She shook her head again, that glorious hair sliding over his arm, dismissing his overture, and reached toward him again. “Cease your idle promises, and let me do this, silly man. The blood will blind you.”
Alexander sucked in a huge breath and strengthened his resolve against the soft body nestled against his naked arm. The warmth of her played havoc with his senses. When he snatched a quick peek at her, he saw her lashes flutter slightly against the rays of the sun and cast perfect shadows on her cheeks. Her lips parted, and he felt her breath fan his skin, which in turn fanned the fire lower in his body. If the lady wasn’t careful and brushed a little closer, she would feel more than she bargained for. He was tempted to make her feel it.
“Mistress,” he growled, “I give you fair warning. Remove your hands, or I will shove that tiny bit of cloth up your tight little—”
“Campbell!” Barton shouted.
Alex snapped his mouth closed and glared at the little minx. The woman’s brows rose, and a silky smile spread over her lips.
“Up where?” she asked sweetly.
“I’ll leave it to your own imagination,” he said. “Now get the hell away from me, and allow me to live my miserable life. I cannae stand the smell of your perfume.”
“So you’ve said,” she said. “Your…perfume is distracting as well. I’ve smelled more refreshing scents in a dirty barn, Master Dragon.”
Barton laughed. “Is it really her perfume you smell, Campbell?”
The girl’s bright blue gaze swung between them, and her already rosy cheeks flushed deeper. Alex tried desperately to pull his gaze away from her. She was having trouble as well. Her glance seemed to want to wander over his face. He felt it sliding over the planes of his cheeks, across the rough beard on his jaw, over his bloody, chapped lips. He felt damned uncomfortable. He’d never felt less like a man in his life, and he didn’t want her inspecting him like a piece of chattel.
She finally focused on a trickle of blood that flowed over his forehead. The slice on his head must be damned big because what snaked across his skin felt like a river and it fucking itched. She reached toward him again, and he jerked away.
Her impatient little voice nearly skewered him alive. “What is your problem, sir?”
Barton laughed. “Pardon me, mistress, but Campbell here has a bug up his ass. He’s determined to be a martyr to the cause and will not accept anything from anybody.”
“I care not about any cause.” The girl swept out her arm to encompass the entire lot camped on the grass. “Whatever cause these men have championed nearly killed them. All of them need medical attention, food, and a place to sleep. They look sick, exhausted, and near death. They’ll be of no use to anyone here without adequate treatment. For some reason, he seems to be the exception.”
Alexander laughed and let his eyes drop to the flesh above her bodice.
“Aye, girl, ’tis an exception I am, but don’t think you’ll be granted any quarter because of it. I’m no gentleman eager for the touch of a lady’s hand, and should you continue with this harassment, you’ll be one sorry piece of fluff.”
The girl’s pretty brows drew downward again, and her blue eyes flashed with a sudden anger. Scary little thing for a piece of fluff.
“Are you threatening me?” she asked. “In front of witnesses? You’re taking a rather risky stance for a dragon whose wings have been clipped.”
“Clipped perhaps, fair slayer, but…”
He leaned toward her and was horrified to see a drop of his blood splatter onto her shoulder. She felt it, had to feel it, because her lashes fluttered for a moment. She said nothing, at least nothing about that. He wished his hands were free if only to wipe the stain from her perfection. Seeing his blood on her skin brought him back to reality. He needed this woman out of his life.
“But what?” she asked.
“But dangerous still, girl, and not willing to be tamed and harnessed by a wench, no matter how pretty.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?” she asked softly.
Her gentle voice threatened his sanity. He wanted her away from him.
“My reasons are my own,” he said. “’Tis enough for you to know I don’t want your help. Play at your nursing elsewhere. There’s an entire lot of men over there reeking of death that need an angel of mercy. I do not. Now fuck off.”
He took a step toward her, and his body bumped against hers. His cock lurched, and she must have felt it because she gasped and stumbled backwards, her eyes wide, her mouth dropping open. He offered her a smile.
“’Tis been a long time,” he said quietly. He leaned toward her. “If you’ve really a mind to help me, I could use a good fuck. Care to volunteer your services on this glorious afternoon? I’d be most grateful, and you’d be more than satisfied.”
Her lips parted, and her stare locked on him. Amazingly, she prepared to answer him. The wench was
impossible to intimidate.
She was so close to him, he could have moved another inch, bent down, and kissed her mouth. He was actually tempted and was willing to risk the lash for just a taste of her, but Barton’s hand clamped around his arm and dragged him backwards. He shot the man a murderous scowl for interfering before he heard her answer.
“You’re determined to swing at the end of a rope, Campbell. Accosting the ladies here is a sure way to accomplish that. This lady in particular is off-limits.”
Alex was at the end of his patience, and he’d arrived on this side of the world with very little to start with. The pretty little wench lured him with something he’d never have, and his aching cock pretty much told him his life was over. As much as he was tempted to push his body against hers, trap her against that wagon, and suck the life from her mouth, he knew the only thing he’d get was a dagger through the gut. Today he almost wished for it.
“A wench like this is never off-limits,” Alex said.
“Think again, sir.”
The blond giant had come forward to rescue the damsel in distress. Even at over six foot, Alex had to crane his neck to look into the man’s eyes—serious, intense, and displaying a willingness to kill him. He saw the man wouldn’t hesitate if Alex touched the girl again. He probably had already considered it since Alex had rubbed his body against her. It had been a crazy thing to do, and stupid, really, because now he had a hard cock and no way to appease it. Even his hands offered no promise, hanging limp and practically dead behind his back.
The look on the giant’s face should have intimidated him, because he’d seen it before, on brothers, on fathers, and on quite a few husbands. The man looked ready to pummel him within an inch of his life, perhaps even further, but Alex happened to like a bit of murder in a man. This one would defend what was his to the death. It was a valuable quality and one Alex personally admired.
“Is she yours?” Alex asked with a smile.
“No, sir, but she’s mine to protect.”
The girl fairly bristled. Alex saw the agitation running under her skin in small tremors. This one liked her own way and thought she was in control. Alexander’s gaze swung back to her, and he enjoyed the little spark of anger he saw in her eyes. Fiery little wench.
Loving Two Highlanders Page 3