Seize the Wind

by Heather Graham

  “My lady!” he called, rising at her side, shaking her shoulders. “My lady, you must waken, you’re dreaming!”

  Her eyes flew open wildly. She stared at him, seeing nothing at first, then slowly focusing on him. “Oh, oh!” she gasped.

  For a moment, she was vulnerable. So very vulnerable, innocent, young, beautiful. He wanted to battle whatever demon she had fought within her dream. He wanted to best dragons, to hold her, protect her.

  “It’s all right. You were dreaming. I am by your side, lady, no harm will come to you, I swear it. Rest easy, it is over.”

  There was a banging on the hut door. “My l—” someone began, then cut off quickly. “Shadow! Dear God, what is happening?”

  He took the knife hidden in his boot and hastily slit the stocking tie binding him to the pale golden beauty on his bed. He strode to the door, sliding the bolt and flinging it open. A band of his men circled the place while Joshua and Beth stood close up front. Beth stared at him and hurried into the room. “Oh, my dear sweet Jesu, what did you do?” she inquired, stunned, and staring with accusatory eyes at him.

  “Do? Not a thing!” he retorted.

  “My lady!” Beth sat at Lady Kate’s side, noting both her lack of apparel and deathly pallor. “You—you renegade!” Beth gasped in deepest dismay and disappointment.

  He strode to the room’s single table, finding wine there, pouring it into a wooden goblet. He brought it to Lady Kate’s side, returning Beth’s stare with an indignant accusation of his own. “I did nothing. The lady was dreaming.”

  “Dreaming of what?” Joshua murmured lightly.

  “That I know not. Unless the lady cares to enlighten us?” the Shadow said. He lowered himself upon one knee, helping her rise to sip the wine she accepted from him. She took a sip, then a swallow, then took the goblet from his hands and chugged it down. She returned the goblet to him, those beautiful crystal blue eyes upon him.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She leapt up, then bounced upon her knees behind Beth. “The wretch!” she whispered. “He demanded my clothing, he threatened me, abused me—”

  “Dear God!” Beth gasped.

  He groaned. “The lady is a liar, and you know it. The more gently one deals with her, the more likely she is to take a bite of flesh!”

  To his surprise, she flushed, her lashes lowered, sweeping her cheeks. “Well, he is a wretch,” she murmured.

  “Ah, but he did not accost you, eh, my lady?” Beth demanded.

  “No,” she admitted, much to his surprise.

  “Well, then,” Joshua said. “I am back for my bed!” He departed the hut. Beth rose. To the Shadow’s embarrassment and aggravation, she patted his masked cheek before she left the hut.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at his guest, still furious with her, yet oddly, once again, touched by her. Her eyes remained downcast, the tangled moon-glow web of her hair about the delicate alabaster perfection of her face. The firelight had died down to a very soft glow. Her shift seemed all the more feather light, the fabric all but invisible. Nay, he’d not accosted her.

  Yet.

  And still, what living male would not be tempted, gentleman or rogue?

  She looked up at him suddenly. “Why do you wear that mask?”

  “My lady, that is easily seen and answered. I wear it to hide my identity.”

  “Why? Are you someone I would know?”

  “We have never met, to my knowledge.”

  She smiled very slowly. “It’s foolish that you wear it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Your eyes,” she said softly, her own upon his curiously. “They are striking eyes. I would know them anywhere. They are fire eyes. And oddly enough…”

  “Aye?”

  “Oddly enough,” she repeated on a breath. “I am afraid of fire. But not of that I see within your eyes.” She flushed then, as if she had said far too much. “Is there more wine?” she asked. “I’d like to sleep again. It may…help.”

  He went for the goblet, poured more wine in it, brought it to her. She sipped from it this time, smoothing a lock of hair. “Join me?” she invited. She smiled. He was certain that she didn’t intend it to be so, but it was the most seductive smile he had ever seen.

  Join you, yes. Touch you, lie beside you, fill my lungs with you, my hand, taste, touch, see, feel…

  “No, thank you.”

  “You’ll not drink wine with me? You’ll demand my clothes and tie me to your person, yet you’ll not drink with me?”

  “I’ve a prisoner to watch over, my lady.”

  She sipped her wine and her smile deepened. “What if I gave you my word now that I’ll not escape?”

  “How would I know that you meant it?”

  “Because I know now that you will return me to the Duke of Manning—in the same condition as that in which I arrived.”

  He inhaled, feeling as if his lungs and every muscle within him trembled as he did so. Sweet Jesu, don’t be so certain of that! he thought.

  “Yes, you will be given to him as you arrived here.”

  “I really need the goods within my wagon.”

  “So do I.”

  “But mine is a just cause!”

  “And you are so certain mine is not?”

  “You are a rogue, a robber, a thief. A renegade in the forest, waylaying honest men.”

  “Who is to judge an honest man?”

  She sighed. “I cannot parry words with you so tonight. I am so tired now….”

  She had finished the second goblet of wine. He took it from her fingers as she stretched out on the bed. He set the goblet on the table, his back to her. He breathed deeply, then returned to her. “Over. You take the side by the wall this time.”

  “Aren’t you going to tie me again? I’ve a stocking left on the floor yonder.”

  “Nay, lady,” he said, lying beside her.

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve given your word, haven’t you, that you’ll not escape?”

  She looked at him, searching out his eyes. “Did I actually give my word, or suggest that I could do so?”

  “I am assuming that you have given it.”

  “Ah!” she said softly.

  She lay on her back, then turned, face to the wall, her back to him. He set a hand upon her waist, drawing her against him.

  She stiffened, but then relaxed. Not a word of protest fell from her lips.

  “I shall hold you rather than tie you,” he whispered. “Is that all right?”

  She didn’t answer right away. He thought that perhaps that she had slipped quickly into a doze from the wine.

  “It’s—all right,” she said softly.

  He was completely startled when her fingers curled over where his hand lay upon her hip. “Fire fights fire, so I have always heard.” Her voice was slurred. “You will keep me from the flame!” she murmured.

  She spoke no more. A few seconds later, a small shudder ripped through her body. She breathed more quietly.

  And slept. Just like one dead.

  And no matter how tired he had been, he lay awake late, late into the night.

  Until the first cock crowed.

  It was morning.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The creek deep in the forest was beautiful. Near the embankment, it was very shallow, one foot here, two to three feet there. Rocks were strewn along it, fine places to sit and bathe one’s feet, or to lay one’s clothing to dry when it had gotten wet. Trees, deep green, dense, grew by the creek, shadowing and shading it. The area was beautiful, mysterious, secretive. She loved it immediately.

  Beth was the one who brought her here. When she had awakened by morning, the black-clad man, no longer such a stranger, had been gone. Beth had come, a woman more kindly and gentle than any good servant she had ever known. She’d brought her clear water and good bread and a pastry pie filled with sweet venison. She’d eaten it all and with relish, which seemed to please Beth no end.

&
nbsp; “It’s not so terrible here, my lady. You must believe that it is so,” Beth told her.

  “The greatest castle, the most comfortable manor, is terrible if one is a prisoner, my good woman,” Kate reminded her.

  Beth sighed. “You’ll not be a prisoner long, lady. The master is a great man—”

  “A great rogue.”

  Beth smiled. “A great rogue, if you will. But now that you’ve breakfasted, perhaps you’d like to wash by the stream. And if you do absolutely swear upon the word of the Lord in Heaven to me, I shall give you your privacy there.”

  So she had sworn. She had no intention of escaping this morning, though last night it had seemed that she must make every effort. She wanted to feel the crystal coolness of the slim waterway. It was delicious. She sank into the water in her slim shift, shivering as the fragile linen clung to her skin, the cold causing her nipples to pucker, goose bumps to break out upon her flesh. And still, she played in the shallows, swam out to the deeper area, then returned again to stretch upon a rock warmed by the forest green and gold rays of the sun.

  Her captor was a strange man. A highwayman, convinced of his own justice! Yet…

  She liked her captor. Liked the sound of his voice, his manner. His temper, his courtesy despite it. And the strangest thing of all was that…

  She had felt safe with him. Why should she not? She was already in the arms of a renegade. It didn’t matter. Last night, in her sleep, she had seen the flames again. Seen them, felt them. Felt the heat. But the heat had been…his body. He had conjured the fire with his eyes, perhaps. But after she had awakened…

  She had felt safe. He had cast away the shadows of the dream.

  How strange.

  She worried about herself for a moment. She had been seized and kidnapped in the middle of the forest by ruthless outlaws and she was no longer disturbed by what had happened. But then, she had long ago given up the worry of damnation. “Revenge is mine, so sayeth the Lord,” she had been taught, and under normal circumstances, that might be just and right. But her circumstances weren’t normal at all, and when she had been very young, she had determined that no matter what she had to do, she was going to have her taste of revenge. She had set out on this journey coldly. That was the word to describe her feelings exactly. She had sat in the wagon with the jewels, rich fabrics and gold pieces bestowed upon her by Lord Gregory and told herself that she would have her revenge at any cost, and that meant going through with marriage, and the relationship that followed.

  Until the Duke of Manning’s death.

  The blood suddenly seemed to drain through her as she thought about what a horrible person she must be, but then again she trembled, remembering how her family had died. She wished desperately that she could simply believe in God’s wrath and final justice. God might wait until the afterlife to take care of the Duke of Manning. She could not.

  A breeze swept by her. She didn’t hear movement; no branch cracked on the forest floor. But she had a feeling that she was being watched and she turned.

  He was there. The man his comrades called the Shadow, and whom the people whispered about as the Rogue of Heffington Forest. He stood casually, leaned against an oak, black mask in place, still clad in black though without his painted mail, his sword in its scabbard by his side. He seemed relaxed, arms crossed over his chest, and she thought that he might have been there quite some time.

  “Good morning,” she said primly, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them to her.

  “Yes, indeed, it is.” He sounded quite convinced.

  “And why is that?”

  He eased away from the tree, coming to her, hunching down upon the balls of his feet before her. “Because you’re still here,” he told her. “When Beth admitted to me that she’d chosen to let you bathe alone, I was quite certain I’d soon be racing through the forest once again.”

  “Prisoners will try to escape,” she told him.

  “But you did not.”

  “Beth asked for my word. I gave it to her.”

  “Ah!” he murmured.

  “I told you my word was good.”

  “I shall have to remember that for the future.”

  She drew her eyes from his, looking out on the water. She turned back to him again. “Why do you wear a mask? Are you someone I would know?”

  He shook his head. “I simply prefer not to hang—or be boiled in oil or the like, were my identity known.”

  “You steal from people, yet refuse to pay the price—”

  “I only steal from select people for a very important reason.”

  “And what is that reason?”

  “One I can’t explain at the moment. My turn. Do you know the Duke of Manning?”

  She drew her eyes from his once again, alarmed to discover that it was such a difficult thing to do. “I—in a manner of speaking.”

  “And you’re anxious to marry him?”

  She shrugged. “The marriage is arranged.”

  “Ah.”

  “He is a duke.”

  “Yes.”

  “A powerful man.”

  “Yes.”

  “A rich one.”

  “But you’re rich, as well, my lady. Lord Gregory’s sole heiress.”

  She bowed her head, anxious to be done with the conversation. “He has a great deal of power,” she repeated stubbornly.

  She felt him looking at her. “Because of his friendship with Prince John?”

  “Yes—and I believe he has gained numerous properties through his own—prowess.”

  “And you call me a thief!” he exclaimed.

  She could still feel his eyes searching her out. “King Richard will return. One day,” he said.

  “Will he?” she asked politely, looking at him again. “He will return, and he will leave again. Richard is a warrior king. One who must keep fighting.”

  “Yes, but he has able administrators—”

  “Who don’t seem to be able to administrate over baby brother John when the king himself is imprisoned by the Austrians! Strange, isn’t it? Great Christian kings, princes and knights went to war against the Infidels—and the war has ended with one Christian ruler making a prisoner of another!”

  “It’s strange,” he agreed. “But the kingdom remains Richard’s—”

  “Until the king dies.”

  “The king is a robust man—”

  “Who,” she said very softly, “is said to prefer young boys to the wife he has taken.”

  “Your words are dangerously traitorous!” he warned her.

  She sighed. “I do not mean them so. I admire the king, I am his loyal subject. But he is not here, he is not doing much to assure himself an heir, and when he dies, John will be king. It seems then that we all must see to it that we straighten out our lives before that eventuality takes place!”

  He shook his head, looking at her. “You are a strange young woman indeed, Lady Kate. So very aware of politics, and so dire!”

  “Again, I do not mean to be!” She needed the conversation to end. She rose quickly, then realized that her shift was clinging to her body like a second skin. “The water is wonderfully refreshing,” she mumbled, hurrying past him to plunge within it. She quickly walked to the deep water in the center of the creek, leaned her head back and soaked her hair. The water was cool, the sun was hot. Looking at him, she felt the strangest sensation of the sun’s rays filtering into her limbs. Warmth, suffusing her, no matter that the water was chill…

  Refreshing.

  She was losing her mind, she thought. Had she said the word again, had she thought it, had he said it? She wasn’t sure. But he was sitting on her rock, doffing boots and hose, coarse wool tunic and soft linen pitch-black shirt beneath. She thought he meant to shed his breeches, as well. Part of her was terrified that he would do so.

  Part of her was eager….

  But he did not. Clad in the skin-hugging breeches, feet and chest bare—the mask and black cloth remaining upon his face and
hair—he strode into the water, not coming near her at first, but shivering as he doused the clear cold water upon his shoulders, chest and back.

  He walked toward her then. She told herself she remained so breathless from the exertion of continuing to tread water. “You’re—wearing a mask in the water,” she informed him.

  He nodded gravely. “I am.”

  “But that black cap upon your head is a waste now.”

  “It is?”

  “Well, sir, your chest is riddled with black hair. I assume it grows upon your head, as well.”

  “Take care. You could assume too much. I might deem it dangerous to allow you to leave the forest.”

  She started to smile, but a shiver seized her. “I have to leave the forest,” she whispered to him.

  “To marry the Duke of Manning.”

  “Yes.”

  “Surely, a rich young woman of your impeccable reputation and…”

  “And?” she inquired, puzzled.

  “Beauty,” he said softly. “You’re rich, you’ve position and beauty. Surely, someone could have arranged a more…pleasing marriage.”

  “Ah, indeed!” she said. “An arrangement should have been made to deliver me and all my riches to the Rogue of Heffington Forest, eh?” She spoke lightly, dousing him with a splash of water as she finished.

  “Not a bad idea, my lass,” he countered, shaking the water from his face and mask. “If you’re actually rich enough.” And with that he snaked beneath her, and she gasped, startled, as he caught her ankle and drew her beneath the water’s surface.

  She rose, sputtering. “I hope that mask shrinks on your face as you wear it!” she taunted.

  He caught her by the hand, drawing her against him. “You haven’t told me—”

  But he broke off, hazel eyes on her, the thought having flown from his tongue. She didn’t wonder at all why he had suddenly gone speechless. She felt speechless herself. The shift she wore did nothing to prevent the burning sensation that now seemed to leap from his body to hers, from hers again to his. The rough feel of all that ebony hair on his chest seemed to tease her breasts mercilessly, and in turn, her breasts seemed to swell. Embarrassingly. She could see the rise and pucker of her nipples, just above the water’s surface. She could feel the tension in his body, the constriction of muscles. She knew full well she should be struggling, pushing away from him, doing anything possible to free herself from his touch….