by Geri Borcz
The feeling vanished as thrashing through the dense brush drew their attention. Alain, growling like an enraged bear, grabbed a surprised Oliver from behind and pinned his arms to his sides, hefting the smaller man's feet off the ground.
Rhys had hesitated long enough for Juliana to lunge for the tired horse. The jittery animal shied away from her grappling, so she abandoned him in favor of a hasty retreat through the trees.
"Hold that whelp," Rhys snapped to Alain, before giving chase. "Not again, my lady."
Slowed by the weight of his mail and the clinging vines, Rhys cursed her nimbleness and strove to catch her. She ran recklessly through the murky light, stumbling on the dangling cloth where it trailed the uneven ground.
"Juliana," he called.
She regained her footing to run farther. Despite the clawing twigs that snagged her hair, tore at her braid, and scratched her face and hands, she ran.
"Halt. Cursed fool, you'll break your neck. Halt."
His rage cooled under a flood of concern. Dread edged out the anger.
"Stay away from me," she panted over her shoulder. "Leave me be, you greedy oaf!"
She stumbled to her knees on a leafy incline.
Rhys lunged, landing on his stomach and catching a flailing foot in his hand.
"Stop this before you get hurt," he ground out, spitting dirt and leaves from his mouth.
His concern only added impetus to her efforts. He noticed that she'd traded her soft slippers for sturdier boots when she landed a hard sole to his knuckles.
"Ow," Rhys yelped, grappling with his hold on her. "Do you yield, my lady?"
She kicked. "Not yet, my lord."
"The day is mine, Juliana." Rhys flopped like a fish out of water and switched hands, dodging the blows to his exposed head and her flying boot "You won't get away."
"Release me!" Amidst a spray of leafy twigs, Juliana kicked free and scrambled to her feet.
One step, two, but Rhys scrambled quicker. From behind, he circled her with his arms, the impact knocking her off balance.
"You worm. Get your toady hands off," she sputtered, dancing on one foot. Her attempt to kick him and squirm out of his grasp tipped the scale.
"Hold still," he growled, turning her into his body to block her movements.
Rhys shifted one foot for balance, surprised to find the ground lower than expected. They tumbled backwards. He felt himself falling down the short incline and twisted with Juliana in his arms, so that he absorbed the impact upon his back.
Down they rolled, amidst grunts, leaves, splintering wood, and scattering rodents. Any attempt to stop meant releasing Juliana to use his hands, so instead Rhys tucked her to his chest like a fragile babe and shielded her with his body.
They landed in a bed of leaves amongst saplings. Rhys took a second to get his breath and his bearings. Juliana lay flat on her back with him angled atop her. His arms cushioned underneath her, with her head cradled beneath his chin.
"Juliana?" he whispered, searching her face for injury.
Fear shot through him, driving the unreasoning anger away. He lifted his crushing weight, freed his arms gently, and braced himself upon his elbows to either side of her.
"Ana?" he repeated. "Are you hurt?"
Through a break in the trees, a sliver of moonlight shone on her features. Leaves stuck to her messy hair, and dirt smudged her face.
"You blackhearted Welshman," she growled on a gasp of breath. A hand yanked free to swipe the wild hair from her eyes. "I regret not drowning you when I had the chance. Much more of this, and you'll render me useless."
Her spurt of temper relieved his anxiety. Provocative images of his bath, though, coiled the tension lower. Despite himself, he grinned upon hearing her fling back his earlier complaint.
"Half," he chided.
"What's that?"
Rhys watched her in the play of soft light, as she strove to replace the wayward hairs and wipe the grime off her face. No matter the circumstances, a totally female habit. A habit, to his surprise, he wanted to share.
"Half," he repeated. "Only my mother was Welsh." He plucked a few leaves and stroked her gleaming crown, the texture as smooth as he'd imagined.
Shadows couldn't hide the fire that sparkled in her eyes. A faint rose scent clung to her warm skin, invading his nostrils and teasing straight to his throbbing groin.
"You fool yourself," she grunted, knocking his hand away, "I doubt she even asked your father's name."
Juliana didn't surrender, even in defeat. He chuckled.
"Sorry to disappoint you. I'm no bastard."
"Heavy is what you are, you oaf," she said, pushing on his mailed shoulders. Like a rock, he lay unmoved. "No doubt 'twill please you to know I now have bruises enough to last a life time."
Nose to nose, Rhys studied her. No simpering maid, this. No cowering in fear of his size or black looks. No hiding revulsion behind a fawning pretense. Instead, her flushed and furious face pleased him.
Despite her perfidy, the woman aroused a gnawing hunger within him. Her luscious mouth beckoned his, sharpening his need to taste her so much, he ached.
"Then I'll kiss each one for you," he promised and lowered his head.
She swung at him.
He caught her hands before the trifling blow landed, pinioning them to either side of her head. Rhys lowered his body to cover hers, blocking her moves with his greater weight and reducing her breathing to shallow breaths.
"Why, you mmmmrph--"
He silenced her with his mouth.
She wiggled her chin in outrage, but he anchored her head between the fingers that clutched hers.
"Vixen," he said, lifting his head.
"Dolt," she gasped.
Rhys kissed her again.
"Open for me," he murmured against her pursed lips.
"Nev-rmmph--"
He smothered her protest, sinking his weight further onto her, driving out her fight, and pressing his mouth harder against hers. His tongue darted out, sketching the contours of her mouth, while he kissed her relentlessly. He persisted, demanding without words. His fingertips caressed the silky strands tangled near her face. Urging.
"Do you yield the day?" he whispered against her mouth.
"Off. Me."
Rhys thrust his tongue inside on her gasp.
She tried to bite him, uttering angry growls from low in her throat.
"Vixen," he warned. "You'll not win."
Rhys released one hand and gripped her jaw, squeezing, while she tired herself with useless blows to his shoulder. His mouth ground against hers, stealing her breath, punishing at first, then ravishing.
Again, he moistened her lips with his tongue and slanted his mouth across hers. He gave her no room to move, no time to think, only to feel. In the space of a heartbeat, a determined claiming became an intimate torment. The world fell away as their heated opposition boiled over into hot need, and angry growls flowed into enticing whimpers.
When Juliana parted her lips in response, a low sound of male triumphant rumbled in Rhys. He gentled his persistent kiss, coaxing, while soft, incredibly soft lips slowly melded to his. He surrounded her with his body and taste and smell, until her lips promised in return--until a purring kitten replaced the she-cat.
"Better," he murmured, easing his weight off her and shifting to lay beside her. "Now, lick your lips."
A dewy, pink tip darted out and circled her mouth in rapid answer. Wet. Wild. Inviting. Rhys swallowed a ragged groan. A spark shot to his arousal, and his body lurched. His discomfort bordered on pain.
"More, Ana," he whispered, slipping his tongue inside her moist warmth. Resuming his sensual probing, Rhys caressed her with a hunger that burned. The raspy tip glided over her teeth and lapped at the yielding flesh on the sides of her mouth. Sweet, so sweet.
She tasted of moonlit nights and stormy pleasures. Of wine, dark, rich and sweet. He explored her mouth like a thirsty man, drinking in her tiny cries, unable to quench his de
mand. He stroked the ridges on the top, fanning the flames, before touching his tongue to hers.
Daring, challenging, until she offered.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. She clung to him, her hands rubbing urgent fingers on his scalp. Uttering a thick growl, he cupped her face between his palms, as though cradling a precious object. He caressed her willing tongue with his, and reveled in the tiny whimpers that broke from her throat.
"Rhys? Pssst, Rhys?" From the crest above them, Alain's low, but amused voice floated down to him. "I don't suppose you need my aid?"
Rhys shuddered on a harsh groan as reality intruded. They played a dangerous game, but that only fed the fire. Reluctant to part from her sweet mouth, he lifted his head a breath away.
Glittering eyes stared into her bemused face. Soft and dreamy eyes gazed back at him. She melted for him, and he fought the clamoring need to slide his body into her heat.
Rhys trailed his fingers gently over her smooth cheek, letting his thumb linger on her moist lips.
"Do I need aid, Ana?" he whispered.
"Nay," Juliana blurted in an unsteady breath. "You've learned quite well."
"A bit shaken," he called in a forceful whisper to his man. "'Tis all."
"I thought not," Alain returned. He chuckled and turned away. "Hurry with yer task, then. We must quit this place."
Juliana's honesty in enjoying his touch pleased Rhys. No martyr to conjugal duty, here. He preferred long, hot nights of loving this woman, instead of endless days of fighting her.
Contradicting the rest of him, his attitude softened. They'd suffered a rocky beginning, and perhaps, now that she knew to whom she'd belong....
"What do you plan now?" She sucked in a harsh breath and the warm light in her eyes dimmed. "Oliver--oh please, Rhys, he's no match for you. Do not hurt him."
That struck Rhys as more motherly than loverlike, but who knew a woman's mind. Carpe diem--seize the present opportunities. To learn their masters, spirited animals needed constant firmness and a trainer with a stronger will. And so, too, did unruly women.
"There's a difference between a man and a lad," Rhys snapped, jumping to his feet. "Best you remember this lesson."
Then, he hauled her upright.
"If you value that witling's neck, my lady," he warned, "understand I'll brook no further tricks from you. Consider him a hostage to your behavior."
Jesu, she addled his wits. Roger prowled his tracks, seeking his blood, and here Rhys dallied with a fiery temptress. Not until he reached Adington could he hope to drop his guard and wrap himself in her luscious body or lose himself in those hungry brown eyes.
His body tightened as his unruly fellow scolded him for tarrying. Anticipation sped through him like lightning.
"I've wasted enough time," he mumbled through gritted teeth. He turned on his heel and yanked her arm. "Come."
Cursing himself for a fool, first for letting her crawl so deeply beneath his skin, then for thinking he'd ever see any peace with this infuriating woman, Rhys ignored her sputtered outrage and dragged her up the incline.
~~~~
CHAPTER 10
Juliana stumbled in the coldhearted knight's wake, humiliation scorching her face. Wasted time. They were words of an unscrupulous man, but still his unflattering opinion hurt.
Once they regained level ground, he deserted her without a backward glance, leaving her in the shadowed silence like an obedient pet. The brisk air all but steamed in the heat of the glare she shot at Rhys's back, while her wordless lips heaped carts of misfortune upon his arrogant head.
He walked through a pale ribbon of light straight toward Oliver, who waited near their mount. Judging by her cousin's moon-washed pallor and bobbing head, Juliana assumed Rhys also warned him against further interference, before he turned to confer with the other waiting knight.
How dare Rhys complain of inconvenience? And how quick he tagged her a woman of easy virtue--with Oliver, of all people.
But with Rhys's warning still ringing in her ears, she swallowed her ire, and almost choked.
Her head ached.
"Ana?" whispered Oliver. He sidled next to her, his breath frosting in the night air.
"I'm fine."
She ducked her head and busied herself by dusting the forest from her arms in angry swipes. If Oliver noticed her high color, she hoped he attributed it to her recent exertion and wouldn't press her for further details.
"Though," she added, "I now see the plight of a fattened capon with new insight. And you?"
"Well enough," he said. He shrugged and picked off the leaf pieces she missed. "We run from the cook and land in the pot. 'Tis a coil, this." He brushed his fingers against each other, ridding the grime, then plowed them through the mussed hair above his forehead. "I have no doubt Roger seeks your return, Ana."
"To salvage his pride," she said, "if naught else."
"To win his war with Adington," Oliver corrected. "We ride at that irate lord's mercy, Ana, and I'd as lief not taste his unpredictable fury. The man has a temper to match his evil looks." Oliver shuddered. "Until his devilish temper cools, there's wisdom in staying our defense."
Evil looks? She glanced again toward the man haloed by shimmering light, silently cursed the quicksilver leap of her pulse, then rubbed the dull throb pulsating at her temple.
"Adington's pursuit speaks well of his ambition to secure my land," she said. "He's the devil's own black demon to have discovered my absence and found us."
"But find us, he did. Now our safety depends on our cooperation."
She snorted. "Curse him for his astuteness. He recognized our bond and now seeks to take advantage." She patted Oliver's arm. "Fear not, I'll give him no cause to harm us."
"Sir Oliver," said Rhys.
Juliana jumped, startled by his silent tread. Even the shadows couldn't soften the harsh face that gave a cold stare to her cousin.
Rhys clamped a large hand around her elbow, a subtle reminder of an earlier warning. She drew in a shaky breath at the warmth that swept her spine because of his touch.
"Mount your horse and ride to the rear," Rhys said with enough chill to leave frostbite.
Oliver nodded, shot Juliana a helpless look, and limped in haste to obey.
Rhys's eyes narrowed on Oliver's back, before he turned an impatient gaze on Juliana and proffered her the woolen mantle.
"You will ride with me," he said in a tone that dared her to gainsay him.
"I'd rather not."
"Oh, but I insist."
A second later she was mounted on the horse, with Rhys sitting to her back. His feel and scent surrounded her.
What madness lured her to this man, despite knowing his heart belonged to another?
Juliana craved someone to share warmth and caring, someone to depend upon for once in her life, not the cold and lonely existence that she knew awaited her at his hands.
Had she no pride? No amount of shame held at bay the sweet memory of lying in his strong arms.
She squeezed her eyes closed against the hammering in her head and swayed in rhythm to the horse's steady gait. Again, she tasted Rhys's insistent mouth and felt the stubbly abrasion of his whiskers against her skin. Night air brushed her face with the same lightness as his caressing breath before he'd smothered her in hot kisses.
Without thinking, Juliana moistened her lips. He liked wet kisses. Her eyes flew open on a soft moan. Her hand jerked to her temple. Cradling her head in her palm, she remembered the feel of his tongue dueling with hers, a sensual dance that hinted at more. Much, much more. Heat uncurled in her stomach.
She drew in a deep breath, as shivers rippled to her groin, and a heat rose to her cheeks.
"Cease that," came a smothered oath from behind her.
"Cease what?"
"Wiggling," Rhys grated out.
Wasted time. She heard his impatience, and stunned by her witless reaction and his churlishness, Juliana stiffened. Her temper flared, but she bit
her lip against the caustic words.
Oliver's life depended on her good behavior.
They rode in brittle silence. Alain's horse picked the way through the woods for the small group, followed at a short distance by Rhys, with Juliana perched stiffly in front of him, while Oliver lagged behind.
As the destrier plodded through the waning night, Juliana mulled over her increasing problems. The chance for Bekton was lost to her now. She needed a new plan against this daunting obstacle to the future of her choice. But her harried mind rejected every scheme.
Intruding upon her scattered plotting, a soft grunt echoed behind her and caught her attention. Oliver. His presence brought her a measure of comfort. She worried how he fared, and leaned to twist her head back to check on him.
An unyielding arm abruptly brought her upright again.
"Sit still," Rhys hissed in her ear.
She screwed up her face in annoyance and twisted back to the unchanging scenery in front. They'd circled, doubled back, and changed directions so often Juliana lost track of where they rode. The more they wandered the murky forest, though, the deeper her suspicions grew.
"We've passed here before," she said.
"Perhaps."
Irritation bloomed. They were lost.
Adding to her frayed nerves, Juliana envisioned hunters one day coming across her dried bones amongst the roots. The picture of their puzzled faces, when they saw her wasted fingers strangling the conniving knight who sat behind her, was the only thing keeping tears of frustration behind her eyelids.