More than anything, he wanted to touch her slit, slip his fingers into her sheath and make her scream in ecstasy. The bud in her folds beckoned his touch. He smelled her arousal oozing down her exposed thighs. It took an inhuman strength not to withdraw from her rear hole and pound into her sheath. He knew she would be blissfully tight, that her juices would fire the pleasure aching to burst from his loins.
His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her honeyed cream. He wanted to nibble her breasts, and he wondered quite suddenly of the shade of her nipples and how dusky her folds. Did they swell for him, quiver for his touch?
He could take no more—his cock bade him move, to drive into her. He dug his fingers into her hips, holding her still as he slid his shaft from her hole, inch by inch. She was crying, though whether in pleasure or pain, he could not know.
“Do you wish it to stop?” he gritted out, his breath heaving in his lungs from the exertion of maintaining control.
“Please,” she whimpered, arching her back. “I must have … something….”
The pleading in her voice was his undoing. He plunged into her again, feeling as though he would die from the tight clench of her muscles, the gasps that tore from her throat. He set a pace, his groin erupting in bursts of pain that bordered on pleasure, hammering into her, shaping her to the length and breadth of his cock.
He stretched her until Alex thought her flesh would tear asunder. His cock was unbelievably large, and the bulb on the tip elicited tingles of achy pleasure throughout her entirety. Her womb contracted at the nearness of his shaft, tremulous pleasure piercing her belly in waves.
It was all Alex could do to keep from collapsing as he slammed against her, into her. Her buttocks were on fire, pain and pleasure mingling in an intoxicating mix that rushed through her veins and left her drunk with arousal. She heard the slap of his coddles against the narrow band of flesh that separated her entrances, found the smacking sound and his groans of pleasure only heightened her own arousal. She should not want this sinful intrusion. She should not grind against him, searching, seeking some thing.
The sensation neared her as he rocked inside her, increasing his tempo until her arms shook with the forceful invasion. He seemed beyond controlling himself, beyond thought of anything but the steady movement.
Something neared, a sensation that vibrated along her very fiber, made her want to curl up with it, stretch and reach, desperately climbing. Inexorably, it moved, creeping into the bud hidden in her folds and the clench of muscles in her femininity.
She felt close to it, almost close enough she could grasp it. A ragged cry behind her tore the feeling away as he thrust a final time inside her. His shaft rippled, spurting a hot fluid deep inside her. The heat made her toes and fingers curl, caused her muscles to twitch in response, yet that sensation she was so eager for eluded her. He emptied his seed inside her tight hole and withdrew roughly. She felt his shudder against her buttocks and knew he’d found some sort of fulfillment she had not.
Bronson collapsed on the bed beside her, dragging her down to lay against him. She curled into his chest, enjoying the heat of him, his hands stroking her back. She steadfastly ignored the ache between her thighs and her enjoyment of his sensual invasion.
“I never knew the pleasure to be found with one such as you,” he murmured against her forehead.
Alex stiffened, horror assailing her. Dear Saints above! After everything he’d done, he still thought her a boy. Alex felt sick with her deceit, sick with the knowledge that she’d turned him somehow. She knew not what she could do to resolve this, and her heart ached to know that he might never want her in her true guise.
Her troubles with the king and pending marriage seemed faraway now, lost to the feel of Bronson’s loving and the brand of his mouth and manroot. Would she ever be able to correct this matter? She feared not. She knew it shouldn’t matter. He was an enemy of her family. She could only imagine what they would think if they knew how close she’d come to the enemy—rather, how much he’d invaded her intimacies. She was ruined, either way.
“Time wastes. We needs must be on our way before the hour grows too late. Mine brothers must surely know what we’ve done. There will be no appeasing them now.”
Alarm made her bolt upright and free herself from his arms. “Will they slay me for trespass?”
He smiled at her, looking infinitely younger and carefree. He’d changed somehow. Alex bit her lip, fighting back her fears. “They will do nothing so long as I live, I promise you that, Alex.”
“You said yourself they thought I meant to seduce you.”
His mouth quirked in a beguiling half-smile as he laid his head on one arm, bent as a pillow ‘neath him. “And so you have.”
“’Twas not all my doing.”
“Nay. A devil possesses me. I thought never to lay hands on a boy, but you seem more woman than manchild.”
Blood rushed her face. She tried to stammer out a reply, but could think of nothing to say.
“Do I offend your manhood, Alex?”
“Nay, it could never be so,” she said wryly.
“I thought as much. Mayhap from this point forward, we can begin to explore this new side of ourselves.”
Alex could feel a faint coming on. This deception would never last. More than ever, she had to be free. She’d created a monster in Bronson. Now she had two Blackmores eager for her tail, both Bronson and Constance. The hunt would like as not fell her. She was suddenly exhausted. All burgeoning pleasure had fled her, and she wanted nothing more than to be alone, in her room and in her bed—if they could subsist for so brief a time.
“Your lips distract me,” he murmured, heatedly watching her chew her bottom lip. “If we do not go now, I fear we shall not leave this night.”
Alex swallowed with difficulty. She scooted off the bed, dragging her long and short hose up over her buttocks miserably before he could see her nakedness. She felt sticky with her arousal and his seed, and knew she must wash soon, or she would be in agony for hours with the reminder of his claiming.
Instead of the warm feeling she’d had before, she was cold now, for it served as nothing else but reinforcement that she did not belong with the Blackmores, nor ever would.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bronson did not come to her as he threatened, to begin an illicit affair ‘neath the noses of his kin, for which she was eternally grateful. If she’d seen him again, she knew she could not go through with her plan to escape.
All the night, she tossed and turned, dreaming up ways to flee the Blackmore household. Finally, before exhaustion claimed her, she lit upon a plan that excited her, and brought forcibly home how little she’d paid attention to her surroundings.
On her first night at Derwin Hall, the McPhersons had raided. Many were on foot it seemed. In fact, she couldn’t remember seeing their horses, but regardless of whether or not they’d had means of transportation, the fact remained that they must be within a distance she could reasonably expect to walk to within a few day’s time.
She felt a thousand kinds of fool for not realizing such a simple truth sooner. She didn’t dare go to the stables again—that was expected of her. However, she didn’t believe any among them would suspect she would just walk away.
It was a perfect plan. Armed with it, she would succeed. She slept well into the next day, easing the aches that plagued her mind and body. She kept to her room most of the day, leaving only to partake of the communal meals.
As dusk gathered, she realized Bronson was avoiding her, as were his brothers. She smiled to herself, thinking of how horrified they must surely be at her actions. They deserved it.
With dark upon her, she made ready to enact her plan. She waited until the dwindling moon rose in the sky, and then she crept through the quiet household, holding her breath as she listened for movement or sound of discovery.
It remained quiet even as she stole outside and gathered her bearings, moving in the direction where the raid had taken p
lace. She felt certain her cousins must live that way, and even if they did not, it could be her fortune would improve and she’d happen upon another raid.
She could always hope.
As much light as the moon shed, it still wasn’t enough to completely reveal the ground to her. She was not so foolhardy as to bring a torch, and so she walked slowly, carefully, feeling the ground with each step to make certain she did not injure herself.
Before long, she completely lost sight of the castle. Her heart jumped for joy. She would succeed in this.
* * * *
“My lord,” a voice whispered loudly, rousing Bronson from his slumber. He came up with a growl, scowling at the person who’d disturbed him. Blinking in the dimness as watered light crept through his window, he saw it was the maid, Elizabeth, who’d come into his room.
For a moment, he tried to remember why she would enter his room, and then he remembered--he’d set her to watching Alex.
Alarm seized him. “Aye? What is it? What has happened?”
“My lord, I-I am sorry for awaking you, but you bade me come if I saw Lord Montague on the grounds.”
“What is it? Is he attempting to leave?” he asked as he threw his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, staggering toward his chest so that he could dress.
“Nay, my lord,” she responded, looking at him worriedly, averting her eyes from his nakedness.
“Then what is it?” he asked impatiently as he pulled a shirt on and followed it with a short tunic.
“He has already gone.”
“What?” he demanded, facing her with a thunderous look. His gut clenched with sudden pain.
“I am sorry, my lord,” she cried, coming to her knees before him. She grasped the front of his tunic. “I fell asleep on my post. When I awakened and went to Lord Montague’s room to stir the fire, I found he’d gone. I-I searched the grounds and could not find him. His horse is still in the stables. I had not thought he would go without his horse. Please, forgive me, my lord, for failing you.”
Bronson bent and peeled her hands from his tunic, fighting the pain that held him in its grip. With effort, he said, “The fault is mine own. Pray, do not cry, good woman. I cannot bear a woman’s tears.”
She sniffled, standing shakily with his assistance.
“It is good you came to me when you did. Now, go to the stablemaster and bid him prepare Ebony for travel. I expect it to be done when I come down.”
“I will, my lord,” she said, backing out of the room.
Bronson angrily pulled on his doublet and hose and fastened his cod piece in place. He was furious with himself and Alex. He’d pushed too far. He knew he should not have bedded her, not in that way. She was a maiden, and he’d taken her in a way no maiden should ever been taken. No matter how much he wanted to bed her, he should have resisted his base instincts. But the sight of her with that whore between her legs had enflamed him, and she’d looked up at him, not with fear in her eyes, but hope and relief.
He’d ignored that look as his blood fled to his cock. All he’d been able to think about was her spread legs, her soft lips that begged for his kisses. He was little more than a rutting madman. It was no wonder she acted much of the time as if she were in a terror. Bronson cursed his monstrous behavior.
Now she had fled, gone back to the kin that demanded her return.
Was he too late to take her back? Had the McPhersons lain in wait, taken her while he slept? It was entirely likely that she had been, and still, he could not help the fragile hope that clung to him and begged him make haste.
His shoes on, his sheathed sword strapped in place, he rushed out of his room, downstairs and out onto the grounds. The household was barely alive at the ungodly hour. His brothers would offer no help or hindrance—he was on his own.
Bronson prayed that she had only just gone. He had no notion of what path she’d taken, but he would travel the most direct route to the McPhersons and hope she’d not had the forethought to cover her tracks. She was on foot. With luck, he could easily catch up to her. If her kin found her first, however, he would have a fight on his hands, and though blows had never been fatal before, he could not imagine that they would continue to be so, not when they were so desperate to get her back.
The stablemaster held Ebony’s reigns out to him as he came out, and Bronson swung up into the horse’s saddle, digging his heels into the horses flanks and racing out to find the woman who’d escaped him.
He would find her. When he did, she would beg for forgiveness.
Bronson tore through the countryside, the landscape coming alive as the sun crept over the horizon. Ebony snorted with the effort, his hooves eating the ground. Bronson cast about, searching his surroundings for some sign of her passing. He could see nothing, and as he drew near the pastures where their cattle was kept and beyond, his hope dwindled.
Cresting the rise of a small hill, Bronson slowed to a stop, guiding Ebony along the swell and looking about from his vantage point. He spied the blocky shapes of cattle, their heads to the ground as they leisurely ate. To the East lay forest, and to the West, more green land turning brown with the coming winter.
He was surprised the little fool hadn’t frozen to death in the cold of the night, but it was a fair day despite the time of year, and she was a stubborn little thing.
Bronson sighed, rubbing his tired eyes, tightening his knees on Ebony as she sidled. The sun was glaring down now, he felt the heat of it on his hair.
He sighed again, in frustrated anger. She was gone. He’d let her slip through his fingers. Either her kin had taken her as soon as she’d left, or she’d followed another path. It hardly mattered now, either way.
As he pulled on the reigns to turn Ebony, movement caught the corner of his eye. He stopped, staring hard to the distance. Moving between the cattle was a man, slight in stature and build, dressed in a black doublet and hose. What drew his attention was the faint swath of red from the slashed sleeves and the flip of a cape as the wind caught it.
Why had he been blind to her before? He’d not even searched amongst the cattle for her. He’d been so certain she was gone, he’d grown slack and unseeing. Cursing his carelessness, Bronson kicked Ebony’s flanks, descending the hill at a breakneck pace, his quarry in sight.
* * * *
Alex heard the hooves before she saw the rider. At first she thought it a passerby, or mayhap her kin on a raid, and then she realized the sound of thunder came from behind her. She whirled around, sure the ground shook from the rider’s pace. Her legs became unsteady, her knees wobbling as she saw who approached. Weakness flooded her in a debilitating wave.
Bronson!
Alex whirled back around, running. She was not going to stand still and let him capture her without trying to flee. He would have a fight on his hands. If nothing else, her pride would not allow her capitulation.
She struggled up the slight rise that stood in her way, her aching legs burning from the effort, her lungs fighting to drag air into her beleaguered body. Sweat beaded on her skin despite the stiff breeze ruffling her wig and cape. She shivered, ignoring the discomfort and the growing intensity of the hoof beats behind her. She heard the frightened lowing of the cattle, heard them flee just as she did. Her feet slipped on a dew slicked patch of grass, and her feet nearly went out from under her in two different directions.
The beats roared in her ears. She felt heat on her back, pushing her onward, harder, faster. Her lungs felt close to bursting, pain stabbed her ribs.
Suddenly she was flying, choking, her doublet close around her throat as she went sailing into the air, her arms and legs flailing, one half of her crossing over the breadth of the horse in a move that stunned her with its impossibility. She landed with a loud woof on a lap as hard and unyielding as iron. Instinctively, she wrapped her thighs tight against the heaving flanks of the horse to keep from falling off. She grasped the pommel for dear life as he turned his mount sharply and headed in the opposite direction.
> One thick, heavily muscled arm came across her middle, pulling her flush against the rigidity of his chest. Alex screamed and clawed at the arm, her struggles ineffectual against the thickness of his sleeves.
“Cease, boy, I would not have you hurt us both,” he ground out, tightening on her until she relented and gasped for breath.
Frustrated tears stung her eyes as she was forced to relax back against his chest. She tried to hold herself rigid, but fighting him exhausted her, and she was already weary from walking half the night. And to what purpose? He’d found her anyway, ignored her fighting and screaming and done what he willed.
She wasn’t ready to cease her plans to escape. He’d captured her this time, he would not do so again. She meant to continue her plans. Her very life depended upon seeing her cousins. The king’s ire would soon grow to fury. She could not allow a fellow countryman to come under the blade. Her Scottish cousins were not bound by the king’s law as they were. She half thought he deserved the punishment of their Sire.
“I wish to be free of you,” Alex ground out, squirming in his hold. His mammoth of a horse had already swallowed the ground it had taken her half an hour to cross, already crossed the hill she’d had so much trouble both climbing and descending. It was a hopeless plan that she’d enacted—she saw that now. The only way for her to succeed would be to gain her own horse.
“Your will is at odds with mine own, and I am always the victor,” he said, grunting as she elbowed him in the stomach and struggled anew.
“My will is as great,” she bit off, wriggling in his lap. He was as hard as oak, and just as uncomfortable to sit upon. The heavy trot of the horse bounced her, forcing her to accept his hold when she wanted nothing more than to be free of his touch.
Her backside felt branded. His scent seeped into her pores. She hated smelling him, hated the weakness that assaulted her, made her want to give in and do nothing but wallow on his skin and absorb his heat and scent until she’d lost herself. She fought not only him, but her traitorous body as well. She felt like two halves, split asunder, one eager for his bedding, the other eager for freedom no matter the cost.
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