Alex slammed the door and leaned her back on it, inexplicably weak.
Dear god above, she’d nearly ruined herself in there! She never ever wanted to see manflesh in her life ever again.
His soap scented her skin, surrounding her in the memory of stroking his naked flesh, in having him pressed intimately against her. He had to suspect her a queer creature, for she knew she acted too odd for her actions to go unnoticed.
Alex sank to the floor, pressing her hands against her hands low on her belly. Her womb ached, clenched on a spasm of pain. She could still feel the race of her blood, and wondered if her reaction to him would only increase the longer she remained in this household. She did not trust herself around him. He was far too comely for her ease of mind. No matter that he thought her only a manchild, he was her family’s enemy. She couldn’t allow herself to grow soft to him.
* * * *
Bronson paid no heed to the maid who came in and scurried out again almost as quickly. His thoughts centered wholly on the tempting minx who’d escaped him at the first arisen opportunity. He hit the water with his fist, cursing his recklessness and the single-minded beast between his legs.
He’d been so intent on feeling her hands on him, he’d hardly managed to glean any information from her. What’s more, he endangered his mission by allowing her to know she affected him. Her woman’s touch had enflamed his blood, however, and he’d been hard pressed to think of anything besides pulling her into the tub and onto his throbbing cock.
His coddles burned with pent-up need, drawing tight against his flesh. His shaft pulsed with desire. He could not fathom why he wanted the woman so badly, but surmised he’d been far too long without a woman or he would not want this strange creature so badly. The girl was resilient, a survivor, it seemed—a trait he found wholly remarkable. He could admit that he admired her determination, even if it was at odds with what he himself wanted.
Bronson knew she would attempt escape rather than face possible exposure. He just had to be sure to keep close watch on her so she would not be able to do so.
The situation was a tricky one, to be sure. He felt unaccountably awkward near her, as if she fogged his mind from reason. He would do well to reign in his lust, mayhap slake his thirst on a willing maid. Bronson scowled at that thought. He was not so weak willed that he could not control himself. And, he reassured himself, he had no plans to reveal her for what she was, not until he found out the true reason behind her guise.
The thought gave him pause. Had she told the truth to him for her travels? Was she attempting to escape her betrothed, or was she, in fact, already married and unwilling to admit it so? There could be way of finding the truth except by tripping her on her own lies. That she lied, he was certain, but when she’d spoken of marriage, it sounded an honest answer … and made a disturbing kind of sense. Many a woman dreaded the marriage bed, not discounting the arrangement. As his father’s eldest son, even his own marriage had been arranged.
The thought of some brute or old man plowing into her woman’s sheath made his blood boil. Madness overtook him, bade him to find the truth of the matter. If she was a maiden still, she could not be married, but there was a very real possibility that a man claimed her hand for marriage.
He would have no way of finding out if she was a maiden unless he revealed his knowledge of her true identity, and he could not take that risk. His groin clenched with the notion of plunging into her depths, with sinking his fingers into her core.
Bronson rubbed his groin, trying to ease the unbearable pressure, but touching himself with images of her in his head only increased the pain and his sense of guilt of betraying his own betrothed. He had not even seen the woman he was to marry, let alone spoken vows, and already he was tempted to break the marriage contract. For what? For a temptress and a liar who’d more likely steal his family blind as not.
Bronson stood from the water, stepping out onto the toweling she’d knelt on and grasping one of the linens the maid left. His manroot stood straight from his belly, angry and turgid as he rubbed himself dry. He would get no sleep this night.
* * * *
“I canna believe yer forcing me to wear this, Kiara.” Wren grimaced at the old dress she’d forced on him.
Kiara giggled, smirking at his expression and stoop. She was a wicked girl indeed, but having the hall laugh at his disguise was worth some punishment in the afterlife. She couldn’t help but enjoy teasing him mercilessly. It was the McPherson way.
The servant’s entrance door opened briefly as a spry maid stepped out and rushed past them. “Shh,” she whispered, huddling close to Wren, turning her face away inconspicuously. “Yer brogue’ll surely give us away. And remember, yer an elder woman, so keep yer nose out of the maid’s skirts. I canna say I’d miss ye much if they caught ye.”
Wren glanced up at the glass facade above them. “‘Twill take hours to search.”
Kiara nodded. “That is why we’re splitting up. I’ll check upstairs, and you down. We meet back here in an hour to compare our findings if we have any.”
Wren nodded. “Good hunting,” he whispered as they moved inside. They said nothing as they passed through the entrance.
Kiara held her breath, awaiting discovery from the servants, but no hue and cry went up, accusing them as impostors. Kiara soon found the servant’s stairs and parted ways with Wren, stifling a chuckle as he crept about like an old hag.
She’d just stepped out of the servant’s passage into what looked to be a main hall when a familiar male voice boomed through the passage. Kiara froze instantly, her heart thundering in her chest. She flattened against the wall, darting a glance to the source of the voice.
Him!
Another of the Blackmore brutes trotted down the hall toward him. “Gray!” he shouted. Her nemesis stopped, grinning as his brother caught up to him. They spoke in low tones, laughing, boastful sways to their bodies as they continued down the hall.
A murky name for a scoundrel and blackguard if ever she’d heard one. Gray like mud and stone, old manure and foul skies--
He stopped suddenly, and her breath caught as he looked away from his brother ... straight at her. She couldn’t hear what he said, but he frowned, and her stomach clenched as his brows drew together.
Did he recognize her? God’s teeth, she must look an impostor doing nothing but standing there gaping at him.
Never run from a wolf when it challenges you. They sense your fear and go in for the kill. She had to remember these Blackmores were more akin to beasts than men. With a calmness she didn’t feel, Kiara slowly stood away from the wall and began walking in the opposite direction. Her neck crawled with the feel of his eyes on her. It took every ounce of her will to keep from running in panic.
Finally, she reached a juncture and turned, glancing out of the corner of her eye down the hall. He was gone.
Kiara started breathing again. Damn man. How dare he make her feel hunted and ... and scared?
“You there! Come here.”
Kiara glanced up from her feet, startled. A frazzled, doughy woman beckoned her forward, her arms loaded with linen. Kiara approached, surprised when she thrust the load into her chest.
Kiara grabbed it automatically, giving the woman a quizzical stare.
She blew her hair out of her eyes. “Take this to Lord Bronson’s chambers. He’s expecting you. Here’s the key. You bring that back down to me when you’re done. I have to get back to laundry.”
Kiara freed a finger and took the key. “Where is it?” She needed to dump this off and start her search if she was ever going to find the girl.
“New here? Lord, I cannot keep up with the staff. At the end of this hall.” She left her then, disappearing back into a servant’s door.
Kiara hefted the load, getting comfortable with it, then walked down the hall. She reached the door, listening to muffled voices inside. Not seeing anywhere to set the linens, she struggled with the key and finally managed to unlock the door, wonder
ing why in the world it was locked in the first place.
These Blackmores were stranger than she’d thought.
Kiara opened the door, nearly dropping the linens at the sight of the huge, naked brood leader bathing ... and then the boy in the room turned around with a startled gasp.
God’s teeth! She froze, watching in stunned fascination as he dashed past her, nearly knocking her to the ground in his haste.
“Bring those to me.”
Kiara nodded, trying to appear meek as she left the linens, leaving as quickly as possible. The boy was long gone, no trace hinting to where he might have gone. But she knew quite suddenly that that had not been a boy. She could practically pass for Kiara’s sister.
Something nefarious was going on. That she’d been dressed as a boy and been bathing the head of the Blackmore sons could only bode ill. The door had been locked. The girl was a prisoner, and that Blackmore beast was enacting perversions on the poor girl. Why else would he have her inside, bathing him, if not to seduce her?
And that meant the McPhersons would need to rescue her, for she was certain this girl was kin ... as certain of it as she was her own bloodroots.
Knowing she could do nothing about it so outnumbered, Kiara went back the way she’d come. It would take some planning, of course, but she had a key. If the girl was locked up with Bronson regularly, she could be rescued easily.
She was smiling by the time Wren met her in the courtyard.
“Still gloating over me? How fared your hunting?” Wren straightened slightly, his back popping with the movement. He pressed his hands to his lower back, grimacing.
“Walk with me. ‘Tis time we were gone,” she whispered, linking her arm with his as though she supported him. Other servants left to go to their homes, and they slipped easily among them.
“I found her,” she finally whispered, secure in their safety. He tensed beside her but continued walking.
“And?”
“She is kin, I know it. But that Bronson Blackmore holds her captive. I fear for what will befall her if we don’t do something to get her out. I think he means to seduce her, though whether as a boy or girl, I canna tell.”
Wren nodded, looking disgusted. “A nest of wolves, to be sure. Their girlchild had hold of me for a quarter of an hour. I thought like as not I’d die from her going on about me being too sickly to work.” He chuckled, rubbing his chin. “A pretty, wee thing she be.”
“Get yer mind from betwixt yer legs,” Kiara scowled, glancing up. Seeing they had passed out of sight of the house, she said, “Come, I tire of these guises. I cannot wait to tell Father my plan was a success.”
“Aye, rub it in,” he grumbled, keeping up. When Kiara got an idea in her head ... there was naught anyone could do to stop her....
CHAPTER NINE
Over a week went by while Alex waited impatiently for an opportunity to go to the stables, rescue her horse, and escape. In that time, she’d had an eerie sense that she was being pursued, but surrounded by the brood as she was, there was little doubt why she felt that way. Bronson, she’d decided, was a thorn in her side, best removed as soon as possible lest illness set in.
Finally, when she’d nearly given up hope of disentangling herself from their midst, the Blackmore watch lessened enough so that she had a spare moment to herself. Relieved more than she could ever say, Alex made ready to escape. She didn’t gather up her clothing, since that would appear too suspicious, so she went empty handed down the stairs.
Alex slipped out the door, hugging the wall as she peered around the corner to the clearing that circled the manor. In the distance, she could see the men training. To her left sat the stables, free of activity at this time of day. She should know. She’d watched from every vantage point above it enough in the past week to know that after the noonday meal, the stables were left untouched while the men continued their training.
Slowly, Alex straightened and stepped out, cringing in anticipation of discovery as she crossed the harrowing distance to the stable. Reaching the building without detection, Alex pushed the door open a wide crack and moved inside. There appeared to be no one inside. Alex breathed a sigh of relief.
Sunlight streamed through thin spots on the thatched roof and through rough hewn slats, giving the wide, open area a hazy look of summer dusk. On one end of the stables there stood another door, but from the hay coating that end of the building, she surmised it hadn’t been opened in quite a while. She would have to exit the front entrance. Firedancer should be able to outrun the men if they traveled by foot, and she’d certainly have a good head start regardless of whether or not they saddled horses and gave chase.
Firedancer, sensing her nearness, poked his head over a gate and whinnied at her. Alex smiled and went to him, petting his nose as he nuzzled one hand. “Did you actually miss me, you ornery beast? I missed you too.”
Alex continued petting him, casting about for her saddle when a dread voice interrupted her sparse search and sent chills up her spine.
“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Alex whirled, a smile pasted on her lips. “Lady Constance!” Alex eyed her surroundings frantically, wondering if they were truly as alone as she feared. To her dismay, she discovered they were.
Constance danced over to her, giving her a saucy smile. “Were you about to go for a ride?”
“Uh, no,” Alex said. “I just came out to check on this lazy beast to make certain he faired well in your father’s stables.”
Constance stepped up to Firedancer and began to stroke his forelock. Alex took a step back to put a more comfortable distance between them, tripped over a pail, and abruptly sat. Constance was upon her before she could scramble to her feet. “Oh you poor dear! Have you hurt yourself?”
Alex stood and grabbed her forearms, thwarting Constance’s attempt at a cuddle. “Why no, Lady Constance. No more than my pride.”
Undeterred by Alex’s attempts to hold her at bay, Constance puckered her lips and dove for the kill like a hawk with its prey in sight. Before Alex could gather enough presence of mind to dodge, Constance pressed her lips firmly to her own. If that wasn’t bad enough, the hussy stuck her tongue out and licked her.
Saints above! Her first kiss--and it was a girl!
Shuddering, Alex gave her a shove. Unfortunately, she had been too preoccupied to realize that Constance had her in a firm grip as well. As Constance fell backward, she dragged Alex with her, insinuating one leg around one of Alex’s thighs. Almost frantic now, Alex fought to break free. The girl was surprisingly strong, however. The effort quickly evolved into a full scale tussle. When Alex tried to roll away, Constance rolled with her, taking first position on top.
Arching her back, Alex managed to throw Constance off, but the girl’s grip was unbelievable. Even as she rolled onto her back, she dragged Alex on top of her once more. Rearing back, Alex placed one hand in the middle of each breast and pushed for all she was worth. It was at that precise moment that Bronson strode into the stables and came to an abrupt halt, his face darkening like thunder.
“What the hell?”
The bellowed words were enough to break through Constance’s haze of lust, and Alex’s haze of consternation. Two heads whipped in his direction. Two identical looks of horror studied him for perhaps two heartbeats before they both scrambled guiltily to their feet.
“You brazen little pissant,” Bronson roared, striding toward them with murder in his eye.
Alex gaped at him in horror, but quickly decided on the better part of valor. Whirling, she took off as fast as her feet could carry her, heading for the door at the back of the stables.
Constance shrieked as Bronson raced past her, throwing herself at him and catching him around one leg. Bronson hit the dirt hard enough it knocked the air from his lungs in a loud woof. Unfortunately, the shriek so traumatized Alex, her knees turned to water, and she tripped and rooted through a pile of hay.
The cursing behind her, as Bronson regaine
d his feet, was enough to get her on her feet once more. She’d barely managed to cover half the distance, however, when something flew upon her, laying her out flat on her face in the middle of the pile of hay. As she struggled to rise, something landed upon the heavy boulder already weighing her down, and she realized Constance had arrived to the rescue even before she’d heard Constance’s shriek, “Leave him alone, you bully!”
Bronson heaved upward, throwing his sister off. Stunned as she was by the impact of having both of them land on her, Alex knew her only chance of survival might be to run now while Constance held him off. Even as she struggled to her feet, however, Bronson reached out and grabbed her by one ankle, jerking her down again and clamping one ankle firmly between his thighs. Grabbing Constance by one arm, he dragged her across his lap and spanked her soundly.
She was still shrieking when he stopped and shoved her off his lap. “You, get to the house this instant while I deal with this cur, or I’ll give you a beating you won’t soon forget.”
Rubbing her buttocks, Constance glanced from Bronson to Alex and finally whirled and fled.
Coward, Alex thought. “I swear, I never touched her!” she exclaimed when Bronson turned to her with blood in his eyes.
“Liar,” Bronson growled, releasing his grip on Alex’s ankle and turning to get to his feet.
The very moment he released her, Alex swung a kick directly at his face. She wasn’t certain whether she was glad or sorry that she missed. It seemed doubtful that she would have stunned him, even if she’d managed to connect, and pretty nigh impossible that he could be angrier than he was at this moment.
Before she could do more than gape at him, he launched himself toward her, flattening her against the hay. Desperate to escape, but unable in her current position to throw an effective punch, Alex swung at him anyway, letting her blows fall where they might. A short tussle ensued while Bronson fought to catch hold of her flying fists, but in moments, he’d gripped both and borne them down into the hay on either side of her head.
Ravished Page 7