But she could not. Her mind refused to work, her limbs refused to respond. She stared into his eyes, thinking that she would recognize them anywhere again, that they were the source of the fire within him, the heat sweeping into her. The source…but there was more than the source. There was the feel of his chest, the rise and fall of it. His hands, holding her. So this was…
Desire, she told herself. Passion. Longing, aching, craving, needing…something.
Passion and desire were dangerous, she reminded herself. She heard the minstrels’ tales of star-crossed lovers, and she’d thought men and women silly to want to die over thwarted love.
She was not in love. She barely knew this man.
And yet…
She knew him deeply in a way that could not be logic or understanding within her own heart and mind. And what difference did that make? She had been willing to wed the Duke of Manning and accept all that came with being his wife until…
His death.
She was a horrible person.
No…
Maybe.
She pushed away from him, breaking what spell of silence had held them together. He instantly let her go. She remembered that it was too deep here for her to stand. She began to furiously tread water once again.
“What…was I saying?” he asked her, those hazel eyes still burning into hers.
“I, um…” Her words were cut off when she suddenly cried out. A cramp, so vicious it felt as if a knife were piercing her, suddenly seized her wildly pumping calf.
“What is it?” he demanded, alarmed.
“My leg…”
“Something has bitten you?”
“No, no…it just hurts. Terribly. I can’t swim, I can’t…”
She couldn’t stay afloat, which became obvious as the end of her sentence came out in a stream of bubbles. He reached for her, drawing her instantly into his arms, against his chest. He carried her quickly back to the embankment, back to her rock. Sitting her down, he took her calf between his hands, rubbing it strenuously.
“Wait!” she gasped, nearly passing out from the pain. “Please…you’re killing me!”
“I swear, it will be better.”
“But I will be dead!” Yet even as she spoke, the ungodly pain eased from her limb. She exhaled on a long sigh, meeting his strange hazel eyes.
“Better?” he inquired with a crooked smile.
“Yes. But I’m dead.”
“You speak well for one decaying.”
“And you speak well for a rogue.”
He’d released her leg. She felt his eyes, and knew again that her shift did nothing to conceal her. She looked down quickly, alarmed when the heat seemed to return to her, when she couldn’t breathe quite normally, when she feared again that this was a taste of wanting…
A man. This man. A masked rogue who had seized her in the forest. An outlaw, a renegade.
So much worse than you, hmm, Lady Kate? she mocked herself.
If she was to be touched, this was the man she would want to touch her.
She thought again that she was losing her mind, feeling such intense emotions for a stranger. A man who wore a mask. He could be hideously scarred.
It wouldn’t matter.
“Well!” he said, rising suddenly and swiftly. “I’ve business about.”
“More people to waylay and rob?” she asked politely.
“The payment of your ransom,” he informed her.
“Ah!”
“I know that you are anxious to quit our company.”
She lowered her head in silent agreement.
“I’d hoped to make arrangements today, but it seems you’ll be among us another night. Do you still swear that you’ll not attempt to escape again?”
She hesitated.
“I swore to Beth that I would not do so now—”
“Swear to me that you will not do so. And I will swear to you that I will see you safely given over to the Duke of Manning—as long as that remains your wish.”
“It will remain my wish,” she assured him, determined not to meet his eyes.
“Swear to me. Give me your word.”
She didn’t look his way. “I swear, I give you my word. If your word is given in turn.”
“It is.”
She didn’t notice that he had left her until she turned to look back to where he had stood. He had gone on a silent tread. She felt the breeze stir, and she was cold. She found her gown and swiftly slipped it over her head, shivering still.
Not much later, Beth came upon her. “Poor dear! You’re shaking.”
“I’m still damp, so it seems.”
“Ah, well, that’s easily remedied!” Beth said cheerfully. “Your trunk of clothing has been brought to the hut, you can change into something dry and warm.”
Kate was startled to realize that her masked captor had already returned something that was hers. He was, indeed, an intriguing man.
* * *
When dusk fell, she sat before the fire in the hut that might have been a hunter’s lodge belonging to any great lord. Though it was simply furnished, it had been strongly constructed. The chimney had been well built to take the smoke from the place and leave the warmth inside. She had been surprised to find herself exhausted that afternoon, and she had slept. And though she had gravely thought over her own purpose throughout the day, her nap had been dreamless.
Or free from nightmares, rather. Before sleeping, she had untangled her hair and dried it before the fire. Her brushes and combs had been returned along with her trunk of clothing. She had found herself a fresh linen shift, and a warm woolen gown that sat low upon her shoulders and breasts. A somewhat daring gown.
Yet one she had decided to wear.
Now, brooding and barely awakened from her sleep, she heard the noise of revelry behind the wooden walls of her prison within the forest. Someone played a flute, someone laughed. Others joined in the laughter.
She had sworn not to escape.
She had not sworn that she would lose all sense of curiosity.
She slipped out of the hut, coming through the haphazard array of the other small living quarters. She paused when she reached the clearing before the buildings, for there tables were laid out, piled high with plates of meat. Gourds of wine, beer and mead were set out, as were wooden goblets. But though there was music and laughter, and though men milled about speaking and drinking, their feast did not seem a wanton one. Not the type of drunken melee one might have expected from a band of outlaws.
Yet even as she watched, she heard someone call out that “the great lady” had come.
And she watched with a disturbing jab of discomfort as a wagon came into the copse and her black-masked captor stepped quickly forward, sinking low upon one knee as the door to the wagon swung open and a woman emerged.
She was swathed in black, as well. She did, indeed, wear such a cloak of black, her head well veiled, that Kate could see nothing whatsoever of her face. Yet as she came among the men, they all cheered, making as much of her as they might of a queen. She, in turn, was charming, greeting each man, calling each by name, then lowering her voice as she chatted longer.
Wine was brought to her, a seat was drawn for her at the table. The Shadow was given the place of honor at her side. He took her hand; they spoke earnestly. She drank her wine, then accepted a large trunk brought out by the men.
Huge Joshua opened the chest. Kate gasped, seeing that it was filled to the rim with gold pieces and precious gems that sparkled vividly even in the soft glow of moonlight.
The Shadow turned, and Kate clamped her hand over her mouth, closing her eyes tightly even as she rued her own carelessness at allowing that rush of air to escape her. She flattened against the hut by which she stood, then realized that no matter how quiet the sound she had made, he had heard something, or perhaps even sensed something.
She couldn’t be caught here, she thought.
She pressed against the outer wooden wall of the hut and open
ed her eyes, ready to rush back to the hut which was her prison.
Yet she could rush nowhere.
For her very first move slammed her against the rock hardness of his chest.
And she gazed into hazel eyes that seemed to sear her with a gold-tinted fury.
CHAPTER SIX
“You gave your word you would make no attempt to escape!” he exclaimed angrily. His arms were braced around her, palms flat against the wood. She realized, as she stuttered for an answer, that though he wore his mask, the black cloth that he had previously banded over his head and hair was gone. She had been right. His hair was dark. Very dark. Rich, thick and flowing.
“You gave your word!” he repeated.
“But I’m not trying to escape—”
“You’re not where you’re supposed to be.”
“I heard the music, I—”
“Were you invited out to join us?”
“No, I wasn’t!” she hissed. “I was rudely ignored. But if I had been trying to escape, I would have gone the other way, as would anyone with half a grain of sense!”
“So you were spying on me.”
“Oh, you egotistical lout! I was doing no such thing!” she snapped. She shoved against his arm, sliding beneath it to escape his hold and start back for her prison hut. She wasn’t surprised to realize that he was walking behind her, following closely. He might claim to accept her word, but he didn’t seem prone to believe she’d simply return to her hut for the night.
“You were spying!”
“I wasn’t! I don’t care what wretched revelry you and your band choose to engage in. I—”
“You were trying to escape?”
“No, damn you. I—was thirsty. I would have enjoyed some wine—”
“There’s wine in your lodging quarters, my lady.”
“Perhaps there are those among your men I enjoy.”
“Oh, really?” he thundered.
“Don’t you have a guest?”
“My guest is in the process of leaving. If she were not, she would understand my present difficulty.” They had reached the hut. He pushed open the door and nudged her inside with little gentleness. The fire built earlier was crackling warmly in the hearth, casting a subtle glow of light upon the room.
“There is nothing to do with you except watch over you myself like a nursemaid!” he declared.
Kate stood stubbornly just inside the doorway as he walked over to warm his hands.
She ignored his last statement. “Is she your wife?”
“What?” he demanded, spinning back to her.
“The woman here. Is she your wife?”
A slight grin curled his lips beneath his mask. “No, she is not my wife. Whatever would make you think so?”
“You were giving her all your ill-gotten gain!”
“Ah.” Dark lashes lowered over his eyes. “I see.”
“You wear a mask, hiding your identity. It’s quite possible to assume that you are a wealthy man leading a double life. Perhaps a noble fallen upon hard times who must rob from the rich to save his property.”
His eyes were on her again. “You didn’t fully see the lady?” he inquired.
“And if I did?”
“Foolish question on my part,” he muttered. “You would not be asking such questions. Well, my lady, since you are so anxious to get on with your own life and marry the Duke of Manning, you should be grateful that you did not recognize my guest.”
“Why? Who is she?”
“It is none of your business, my lady,” he informed her firmly. “But suffice it to say that had you recognized her, I’d not have been able to release you. Now, didn’t you say that you were seeking some wine? Ah, with company you cared for! Sorry, I’m the only one present!”
“All the more reason for the wine,” she murmured, gazing at the door. She was suddenly burning with curiosity to know who the woman had been. He could not seriously mean that she would remain a prisoner here if she was to know the identity of his guest.
He poured wine, offered her a wooden goblet, then drained his own before seating himself at the foot of the bed to draw off his boots and hose.
“Is she your…mistress?”
“Kate!” he said with exasperation. “I cannot tell you her identity. Drink your wine like a good hostage, grow tired and please, for both our sakes, go to sleep.”
“Hostages are not supposed to be well behaved.”
“Then pretend that it is so.”
“Why?”
“Because the consequences will be dire if you do not!”
“Oh? What will those consequences be?” she demanded. “Shall I be in some manner tortured or tormented?”
“Kate, were I to make up for all the torture and torment you have caused me…damn you, my lady! Drink your wine!”
She drank her wine, feeling its warmth suffuse her. She set the goblet down, then sat upon the bed, studying his back. So she tortured and tormented him! Well, he had chosen to seize her wagon.
Kate mused, “She couldn’t have been someone actually needy. She came in too fine a wagon.”
He rose impatiently and poured more wine into her goblet. She stared at him rebelliously. He lifted the goblet to her lips. “Drink.”
“You are an impudent man,” she said regally.
“And you had best be a quiet woman. Soon. Drink, my lady, that is what you require!”
She’d soon be wearing the wine. Though she hadn’t intended to obey him in the least, she found herself drinking it. Again, the warmth seized her. A warmth she wanted. A great restlessness had taken hold of her. She was angry with him. And ridiculously, she was jealous. She didn’t want to recognize the emotion, but she did. She wanted to ply him with questions. She wanted to force answers from him. Her mood was frightening. She even longed to argue or fight with him….
Just so long as he remained with her. By her. Close to her.
“Tired?” he asked her, aggravated.
“Not really.”
“Well, we are going to sleep.”
“Do you sleep with all of your hostages?” she inquired.
He hesitated, staring at her. “I haven’t taken that many hostages. However, all my other ladies were just that. Mild mannered, eager to await their ransom. Not a one of them continually tried to wage war against a kni—against a man twice her size. Or tried to run into the forest along with the wolves!”
He took both their goblets and returned them to the table, drawing his black shirt over his head. He stood before her as he had earlier, barefoot, bare chested, clad only in his breeches and mask.
“You take the inside, my lady,” he said.
“Why? I’ve sworn not to escape.”
“Because I’ve said that you must go there.”
“You have no rights over me.”
“My lady, there is always the possibility that I may have to move quickly in the night.”
“Am I to strip?” she asked coolly.
“Only so far as you would care to do so,” he told her.
She kicked off her shoes, then discarded her stockings. On a wild, wicked impulse, she drew the wool gown over her head, then stretched her length on the outside of the bed in her linen shift, where he had determined he would sleep.
She gasped when she felt firm hands upon her, lifting her to draw up the covers so that they might settle beneath them, then setting her down where he had commanded her to be. His touch was quickly gone and she was left to stare at the ceiling. The fire was dying out. The shadows on the ceiling and walls were long and dark.
He turned his back to her. She could hear the audible grating sound of his teeth.
“You didn’t answer me!” she whispered. “Was that woman your mistress?”
He flipped over again, up on an elbow this time, staring down at her in the darkening shadows. “I warned you that you don’t wish to know the answers to your questions. I cannot imagine Lord Gregory’s daughter leading the life of a forest dweller!”
She lowered her lashes. For a moment, time rushed back again with painful clarity. She could remember being blackened with smudge, running. She had been burned, and she was in pain, but the horror within her heart went so much deeper. And she had run into a man on the hill, staring into the wind. The man had been Lord Gregory. She had never met him before, but there had been something in his face, some pain and kindness there, and she had managed to tell him, and beg him to come back with her….
“Poor lass, poor wee lass! But this world can be filled with wretched men! You can’t go back there, child, don’t you see? They will want you dead, as well. Your father’s title is what that murdering imp of Satan is after, and if he realizes that you are alive…”
Lord Gregory had made his decision then. “Listen to me, child. My own dear little Kate lies dead this morning in her room. You must become Kate, become my own. I know that your good father will guard my little one in heaven, and therefore, I will guard you here on earth.”
Well, she had been Lord Gregory’s daughter from that day on. In every sense of the word. She had loved him dearly. He had helped her grow. In time, she had come to protect him, as well, to guard his interests, to keep his fortune and estates together. She had worked terribly hard, knowing all the while that she would have her revenge.
But not while he lived. Still, the desire for justice had been so strong within her! No matter what it cost, she had to reach Manning.
And still…
That strange streak remained with her this evening. The urge to press and make demands, to hear his voice…
To remain close.
“Whether I know if she is or isn’t your mistress gives me no earthly idea of her identity,” Kate said.
Outside, a cloud had perhaps covered the moon. Inside, the firelight filtered low. They called him the Shadow, and he seemed a shadow now, a presence in the darkness. One that seemed to overpower all else in the room. She could feel him, breathe his scent. He was watching her, she knew, in the darkness. And he saw more than she could.
Seize the Wind Page 5