Seize the Wind

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Seize the Wind Page 3

by Heather Graham


  “They will raise your head high on a pole above Manning Castle!” she predicted direly.

  “Perhaps. But that will not save you now,” he assured her, leaping to his feet once again. He reached down a hand to her. As he expected, she refused to take it. She lay breathing heavily upon the ground, staring at him. When he sighed and bent to pluck her up, she suddenly found her strength, rising and heading for her mare.

  “Oh, I’m afraid that I cannot trust you to return to your guest room so,” the Shadow said.

  “Damn you—”

  “Allow me!” He kept his words as polite and courteous as possible, then drew her against him and hiked her up by the waist to set her upon Windrider, following her up in one swift movement.

  “But the mare—”

  “Will return home. She likes it in the forest,” he said.

  “Poor creature. She is but a stupid animal.”

  Her scent was subtle, something derived from violets, soft, haunting. Had he noticed it before? Perhaps not. He had noticed her eyes, the golden cloak of her hair, the perfection of her face and form. Yet she hadn’t given him much time to appreciate her truly fine attributes, since she had kept him busy fighting her every move.

  Yet now…

  Now as they rode…

  Ah, that scent kept coming to him, seeping into him as if it had come into his blood, and wafted now throughout him, a strange taunt. He hadn’t really felt her warmth until now, or realized the way she moved with each breath.

  He urged Windrider to greater speed, praying that the night breeze would sweep away the heat arising within him. He’d been exhausted; he’d barely managed to catch a few hours’ sleep. Leading a double life, he had discovered, could be far more exhausting than following Richard to the Crusades.

  She was far more exhausting….

  Indeed. She was far more trouble than he’d bargained for tonight….

  She was beautiful.

  She was deadly.

  Yet the greatest danger had been erased. She had not escaped him, had not discovered the forest trails, had not escaped by way of them. She would never be able to lead anyone to them. They were safe, their secret place in the forest was safe.

  He saw Joshua, standing guard by the trail into the copse.

  “Ah, you’ve found our guest!” he cried, relieved. He shook his head. “My lady, the forest is no place for a woman alone in the night. There are wolves—”

  “Yes, there are. Unfortunately, I stumbled upon one!”

  “Were you hurt?” Joshua asked, deeply concerned.

  “She means me,” the Shadow said with a sigh.

  “Oh,” Joshua said. Then, “Oh!” he repeated once again, laughing. He saw the expression in the Shadow’s eyes and sobered quickly.

  “Shall I return her—”

  “Nay, Joshua. I shall do the deed! See that word goes out that the lady has been found.”

  “Aye, my—Shadow,” Joshua said.

  The Shadow urged Windrider forward. When they returned to the copse, he did not set her down alone, yet kept his hands upon her even as he dismounted himself, then dragged her along with him. Her body was as stiff and hard as oak, her beautiful features set into a mask of fury and defiance.

  A few men had silently stepped from the huts and stood staring at her. Beth slipped out among them, watching. Lady Kate spun around, staring at them all. Then she turned back to the Shadow.

  “I’ll escape you again,” she assured him, head high as she wrenched free from his hold, hands on her hips as she stared at him.

  “Not tonight.”

  She lifted an arm to indicate the men around them. “What guard will you leave on me, rogue, that I will not defy? Can all your men remain awake all night? Can any of them have eyes everywhere? The moon is full, a hunter’s moon, your moon, for you are like a raptor after prey in the night, but clouds will come and blind the most predatory carnivore!” she exclaimed with taunting fury.

  “Ah, well, my lady! I would no longer dream of giving any of my men the wretched task of seeing to your comfort. I intend to do so myself.”

  “What? And can you stay awake through the night? Can you be ever watchful?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her. “My lady, I intend to sleep deeply and sweetly, all through the night.” He smiled at his men. “Get some sleep, my good fellows, except for those of you posted as guards. I will see to the lady myself this night.”

  “Oh, will you?”

  “I will.”

  He caught her elbow and led her firmly through the trees and branches and moon-touched huts to the building in the far rear. “Let me go!” she insisted, apparently alarmed at last by his absolute determination and inescapable grip upon her. “You wretch, you can’t stay awake all night.”

  “But—”

  Beth came hurrying behind him then. “Shadow, the lass will cause you great difficulty tonight, trying to escape and the like—”

  “She’ll not be in such a hurry to escape again,” he said firmly.

  He’d reached the hut. He threw open the door, forcing Lady Kate through it. Beth hovered in the doorway.

  “But why—” Beth began.

  “She won’t be in such a hurry to escape because she’ll be naked.”

  “What?” Lady Kate gasped, glaring at him in outrage.

  “Oh, my lady, he does not mean it, there is no finer gentleman—”

  He pointed a stern finger at Beth. “Don’t you tell her what I will and will not do!” he warned. “There is no more exhausted gentleman!” he assured her.

  “But—”

  “Out!” he ordered, and he firmly pushed Beth from the room, sliding the heavy wooden bolt on the door from within, then turning to lean against it and cross his arms over his chest.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” she demanded.

  “Simple, my lady. Do you give me your clothing, or do I take it?”

  “You’re a madman.”

  “You’ve ten seconds.”

  “How dare you! Do you know what the Duke of Manning would do to you for this insult?”

  “I’ve difficulty imagining what could possibly be worse than being boiled in oil or having my insides taken out,” he told her. “Now, I mean it. I want your clothing. I’ll count from ten. Then I’ll take it.”

  “You’re a fool, a wretch, a bastard—”

  “Ten, nine…”

  “There are worse things he can do to you! Cut off your fingers one by one before boiling you!”

  “Eight, seven…”

  “Burn your extremities!”

  “Six, five…”

  “I’ll give you my shoes.”

  “Four, three…”

  “My shoes, see? Here they are!”

  She had taken her delicate leather shoes from her feet and offered them up to him.

  “I want more than shoes.”

  “Well, you can’t have more!”

  “Um, what number was I on? Two…”

  “You bloody thief!”

  “One!”

  She let out a shriek as he started toward her, then turned and flew.

  But there was nowhere to go. She reached a wall, and turned, and he was there.

  Upon her.

  Hazel eyes burning like a demon’s through the slits in the Shadow’s black mask.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What if I were to give you my word that I’d make no more escape attempts?” she pleaded.

  “What?”

  “I’ll give you my word!”

  “And I’m supposed to accept your word—after you’ve kept me on a mad chase since I’ve first set eyes upon you?”

  “Yes!”

  “You’ve tried to escape every conceivable chance!”

  “But I never gave you my word before.”

  “I can’t possibly accept your word.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you might be lying!”

  “I said I’d give
you my word!” she repeated, eyes narrowed warningly.

  “Hmm.”

  “My word of honor!”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry?”

  “No good. I’m not at all convinced you are a woman of honor.”

  She was quick and powerful; only because he was coming to know her well was he able to catch her wrist before her hand connected with his cheek.

  “Now really—” he began, but she shoved aside the arm he held her with and to his astonishment was already removing the delicate gold belt that rode low on her hips.

  “Rogue!” she declared angrily. The belt fell to the floor. She pulled her elegant blue tunic over her head, casting it with a fury across the room. A shift that seemed concocted of pure gossamer did nothing to conceal the shape and form of her body. She wore nothing else other than garters and hose, which she dipped to discard with the same abandoned frustration and fury.

  Muscle by muscle, he seemed to constrict. Nay, he seemed to constrict in places where he hadn’t been aware he had muscle. In fact, his skin seemed to constrict, his heart, his limbs, his soul.

  And definitely other organs of his body.

  “Fine!” he heard himself snap suddenly. It had a husky sound to it. A pained sound.

  She seemed startled, and straightened, her last stocking still in her hand, her eyes very wide and blue with surprise. God help them both, she seemed all innocence, unaware of all that damnable constriction within him.

  “That will do, my lady,” he said as coldly as he could manage. “I don’t think you will be so quick to leave now.”

  She tossed her head, amazingly regal in her near nakedness. But then, perhaps she didn’t realize how firelight played havoc over her apparel. How the rippling flame just seemed to kiss the flesh beneath the alabaster of her gown. Enhance the dusky rose of her nipples. Make a haunting shadow of the golden triangle between her thighs…

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t be willing to run from this place as naked as the eve I was born, rogue?”

  “Would you?” he inquired.

  She turned her back on him. It didn’t help. Golden light and shadows fell upon the length of her back, the sweeping fall of her hair. The curve of her buttocks.

  She spun back. “Perhaps.”

  He nodded, at a wretched loss. He didn’t dare falter, yet he was ready to kick himself for this torture he had brought down upon his own flesh. Nowhere to go from here except along the path he must.

  He reached out a hand to her. “Come here,” he said.

  She arched a brow at him. “I am neither slave nor servant. You want me, you come to me.”

  “Witch!” he lashed out furiously, but if she wanted him there, there he would be. He covered the distance between them in two long strides, catching her arm, dragging her against him. Oh…another mistake. He had previously shed his coat of mail to sleep. He wore his black shirt and thin breeches and nothing more, and it seemed that every curve he had savored with his eyes now pressed into his flesh and form.

  But this wasn’t the time to show weakness. He bent, dragging her with him, and procured one of her stockings from the floor. With his teeth and right hand, he tied her right wrist to his left one, despite the fact she gasped and tried to struggle once she realized his intent. But the knot was drawn quickly and tightly, and she was left with no recourse but to stare at him, oddly trembling now that the deed was done.

  “I can still escape.”

  “Mmm. And I should have accepted your word that you would not?”

  “I had offered it freely. That is the only way that one can ever trust another’s word.”

  “Give it to me now.”

  “It is no longer offered.”

  “Then I suggest you get on the bed—”

  “What?” The single word was a gasp, a shriek, a shudder of fear and horror.

  He smiled. Ah, retribution!

  “My lady, I am weary, as I’ve told you. Now there is a very good chance I will fall upon yonder feather mattress and sleep like one dead. However, the longer I remain awake, the more irritated it seems I become. And therefore, the more acutely aware of all that is around me. More awake, more, um, what is the word? Aroused, I believe. Now, you can do your best to defy and torment me longer, or…”

  His arm was nearly wrenched from his shoulder as she turned and headed for his bed. She crawled upon it with such speed and determination that he found himself dragged down upon her. “Oh, would you stop!” she cried out. “I am trying my best to do as you wish—”

  “Lady, you cannot begin to imagine what I wish!” he snapped, struggling to lift his weight from hers, since her impetuous dash had sprawled him lengthwise upon her. He flipped over to his back on the other side of her, inhaling deeply, willing his body to forget the sweet-smelling, incredibly fashioned female form at his right.

  “If you—” she began.

  “My lady—shut up!” he hissed.

  To his amazement, she went silent. To his amazement, his eyes closed. He drifted into a light sleep.

  * * *

  He awoke, feeling the slightest movement. Barely cracking his eyes, he watched as she worked diligently with her left hand, trying so very hard to untie his knot. He closed his eyes, finding it somewhat difficult to keep a smile from slipping into his features.

  But then…

  The scent of her seemed to invade his senses once again. Permeate him, flesh and blood and bone. The softness of her hair waved over his fingers, vivid images of her slim-yet-oh-so-nicely curved form began to play in his mind’s eye. He felt her every motion, her warmth…

  And felt, too, that the knot was beginning to give beneath her fingers.

  He let out a growl that brought a cry of alarm to her lips. She lay down flat, inhaling, exhaling, her chest rising and falling with the exertion. He rolled, looking down at her face, her eyes closed, thick honey lashes shadowing her cheeks. He set a finger upon her chin.

  “You are tenacious.”

  “I’m sleeping.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I will be sleeping.” She cracked open an eye, lowered her lashes again and bit nervously into her lower lip. “Honestly,” she whispered.

  “Mmm, you will be,” he agreed. He turned his body toward hers, drawing another chopped cry from her as he twisted her back to his chest and left his hand—the one that bound them together—beneath her hip. To reach the tie again, she would have to back up to him entirely, feel the fullness of his body flush against hers. “Comfortable, my lady?” he taunted.

  “I’m sleeping!” she hissed.

  “You talk in your sleep?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “So you must try to untie knots in your sleep, as well, I assume?”

  “I don’t know what I do when I’m sleeping.”

  “Perhaps you try to escape while you’re sleeping?”

  “I can’t hear you, I’m sleeping.”

  Ah, yes. She was sleeping. Indeed. She was…comfortable?

  He was not. He was dying; he was in agony. Tension filled him. He prayed that she would not move back. She would feel every bit of tension within his body. Protruding from it.

  But she would not escape from him, that was a certainty. He groaned inwardly, laying his head down. He was startled to realize that he was praying.

  Dear God, please don’t let me come upon such hostages as this again. Dear God, please…

  This time, it took a very long while to fall to sleep again.

  * * *

  She remembered being in the great hall as the men within it spoke.

  They didn’t see her; she stood behind one of the huge tapestried chairs that flanked the fire. She shouldn’t have been in the hall then, and she was well aware of the fact. She should have been in the nursery with Elgin and the baby, Lizbeth. But she hadn’t really been afraid. Her father was a kind soul, a man with incredible patience and tolerance. He loved his wife and his children and never seemed to find them to
be a bother. If he had been about his business and had found her there, he would have scolded her, but she would have wound up on his lap, and he would most probably have told her a story before sending her back up for nap time.

  But her father wasn’t alone. Two other men were in the hall, the one older, the one younger. They argued with her father even as he offered them wine in one of his own homes, the manor at Glenwold. The older man threw a document down before her father insistently. Her father stubbornly shook his head. The older man wagged a finger at him. “You are for me, my lord, or you are against me! If you are against me, you are my enemy. And all enemies must perish.”

  Her father rose furiously, saying that he would gladly battle his visitor at any time. But then he stared into his wine, looked at the man and gasped. “Murderer! Murderer, traitor, most wretched…”

  Her father grasped the table by which he stood. He sagged against it, fell to the floor.

  “Torch the place, be quick about it!” the elder man commanded the younger.

  Her father was dead. She saw his face, saw his open eyes, saw the poisoned foam leaking from his mouth. She shouted his name, running to touch him.

  “One of the brats!” the elder man cried. “Seize her, quickly, you fool.”

  She couldn’t touch her beloved father; she knew it well. She ducked and ran before the younger man could reach her, tearing for the stairway.

  “Leave her!” ordered the elder man. “Set the fires, and she will burn!”

  She had to find her mother, reach the nursery. Get help. But as she ran up the stairs, she began to smell the smoke. She turned, whirling, to look down the stairs.

  There was flame. Eating at the tapestries, lapping at the walls, engulfing the chairs and table. There was flame….

  She saw them in the midst of it, the men, laughing, enjoying their handiwork. Then one of them turned and looked up the stairway at her, meeting her eyes….

  The flames rose higher with an audible whoosh of sound, and she saw yellow and gold, and felt the heat, burning…

  * * *

  This time, she dragged him from a deep sleep. He bolted with a rush of alarm, leaping from the bed, only to be pulled back down by the tie that bound them together. She was screaming.

  No doubt about it—she did scream in her sleep. She was madly fighting him with closed eyes, gasping for breath, flailing at him.

 

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