A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight's Tale Book 3)

by Diane Darcy

  “I’m not a fainter; in fact, that’s the first time it’s ever happened, but there were extenuating circumstances.”

  He simply continued to stare, without comment, the position more and more intimate the longer she lay there.

  Her gaze dropped to the strong column of his throat. “Anyway, if you could just drop me back at my trailer, that would be great. I really do appreciate the ride, thank you.”

  The guy just watched her.

  Her face tightened, eyelids fluttering involuntarily. She let it go on for probably thirty seconds, the silence becoming unbearable. “Did you understand me?” she asked, just in case.

  “I understand ye. Now, hear me well. The king has given you into my care, and you are mine to do with as I will.”

  That didn’t sound good.

  The hair on her neck rose, and her body broke out in goosebumps. Whatever fogginess had been left in her brain, was swept away as she focused on her surroundings once more.

  Was this a kidnapping?

  She immediately dismissed the idea, and realized with a million dollars around her neck, this was more likely a theft.

  The man had separated her from the crowd, and was riding away on horseback.

  She glanced to her right to see they were soon to go into a wooded area, then scanned, looking for someone, anyone.

  She didn’t like to think she had the brains of a criminal, but it occurred to her if the man didn’t want any witnesses to the robbery, then taking her away on horseback, and disposing of her body in a deserted location, might just be the perfect crime.

  No inconvenient witnesses.

  No inconvenient cameras.

  No fuss, no muss. Just a million-dollar necklace that now belonged to him.

  Her earlier sense of calm vanished completely.

  The sudden tension in her body must have warned him because when she jackknifed hard enough to carry her over the other side of the horse, his arms tightened, and he stopped her from sliding off before hauling her upright.

  He gave her a small shake. “Settle, else you shall wish you had.”

  The menace in his words rattled her further, the crazy man had not raised his voice, but the threat was there, implicit, real.

  She was sitting now, facing sideways, her legs hanging over one of his, the red gown she’d dawned earlier pooling over the side of the horse.

  She looked down to see the ground was further away than she’d thought, and wondered if she’d have broken something had she managed to escape.

  The thought of being helpless in front of this man gave her the shivers.

  As did going into the woods with him.

  She sat frozen, her scattered brain trying to come up with a plan. “Look,” she began, her voice shaky. “I’m actually a very nice person, I have friends and family that would really miss me if anything were to happen to me.”

  There was no reaction on his part as they entered the woods and the air around them cooled, the shade of the trees chilling her despite the heavy gown.

  Some of the leaves were a pretty golden color, and another green-leafed tree had a few orange leaves peeking from among the green. “Does autumn come early to England?”

  “September, the same as every year,” he said impatiently.

  Okaaay. She’d seen movies where hostage negotiators personalized victims. Since she didn’t have anyone around to talk about how wonderful she was, she’d have to do it herself.

  She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “My name is Cara Marie Jones. My mother’s middle name is also Marie and even my distant girl cousins have the same middle name.” She was babbling, finding it more difficult to breathe by the moment. “We all have a great-grandmother Marie in common, interestingly enough, one who immigrated from England. And, hey! You’re English too, aren’t you? Who knows, we might even be related!”

  He grunted, the sound derisive. “Who are your parents?”

  She felt a little sliver of hope, relief, and darted a quick glance upward. “Mark and Lori Jones. Pretty plain names, right? Still, I think you’d really like them. My dad builds houses, and my mom is a lawyer in Los Angeles. She wanted me to be a lawyer too, but that was never going to happen. They were surprised when I wanted to be a makeup artist in Hollywood, because I’d always acted in plays in high school, and we lived in California, and they thought I wanted to be an actress.”

  She could feel her heart pounding.

  “I mean, I sort of did, but actors have to win parts in order to be in a movie, but makeup artists are needed on every single set, and don’t age out of a career. It just seemed a wiser course to me, you know?”

  She took another breath. “They always told me to find adventure, follow my heart, dare to be brave. I was trying to do exactly that by working in Hollywood and traveling the world.”

  “With a name like Jones ye must be Welsh.”

  She could hear a sneer in his tone. “Could be. Anyway, Mom couldn’t have more kids after me, in fact, they tried for a really long time to have me. So, they worry a lot. In fact, I talk to my mom often, so you can just imagine how devastated she’d be if I didn’t contact her.”

  Another quick glance showed his expression to be unreadable. If he was softening, she wasn’t seeing it. It worried her enough she simply blurted out, “I’d like to get back so I can talk to the director and hopefully straighten things out. You don’t need to take me. If you could just point the way, that would be great.”

  Just when she thought he wouldn’t answer, she felt every inch of his chest as he took a deep breath before responding. “I do not forgive my enemies, and until I feel you have righted the wrong against me, I will not be letting you go.”

  He wasn’t letting her go? Her eyes darted from tree to tree as she tried to decipher his meaning.

  It didn’t sound as if he was planning to murder her and throw her down a crevice anytime soon, so that was a plus. She’d need to be around if she was to right any wrongs.

  And he hadn’t made mention of the necklace.

  What wrong she’d perpetrated, she wasn’t sure.

  He could just be demented. A kidnapper. Worse.

  She licked her lips, almost afraid to confront him, afraid to anger him if he thought she was acting ignorant, so rather than flat out asking what she’d done, she tried to guess.

  “Are you upset because I ruined the scene between you and Rupert the Brave?”

  His hand tightened at her waist. “Rupert the Brave?” he asked in a slow, dangerous voice.

  She swallowed. “Oh, I mean …” heart racing, she sucked in a series of shallow breaths and flicked a gaze upward. “It’s just ... are you upset about the ... the scene? Is that what this is about?”

  “You ran onto the field, harlot.” She could hear him grinding his teeth. “Thus stopping the fight between me and Dinsdale. You robbed me of revenge.”

  She flinched away from him, suddenly scared of his strength, but there was nowhere to go. Somehow, after putting on the necklace, getting fired, and running out onto an empty field, she’d interrupted an important scene.

  A mental break on her part?

  She’d never been fired before, so how was she to know how she’d react?

  “First off, I don’t appreciate the name calling. And, secondly, I was basically chased onto that field, and thirdly, the director never did stop the scene from playing out. I know my arrival was completely unexpected. Honestly, I’m not sure how it happened. But I think there is at least the possibility your scene will still be in the movie.” She looked up at him hopefully. “Don’t you?”

  “Your mummery will not fool me into believing you’ve been touched with lunacy. I well know the part you played in today’s deception. What I do not know is why.”

  His face was suddenly sharper, more menacing. “But mistake me not, I will find the truth of it, and before I’m done, you shall tell me everything.”

  She shivered, and swallowed audibly. Was he planning to torture her or someth
ing?

  “What truth?” Her brows pulled together and her breaths shallowed once more. “I’m an open book. Anything you want to know, just ask me and I’ll tell you.”

  “I’m not interested in your lies.”

  “I have no intention of lying to you. Seriously, what do you want to know?”

  “Are you in love with Sir Rupert Dinsdale?”

  “What?” She didn’t make the mistake of calling him Rupert the Brave again. “The character in the movie? The actor? The historical figure? Who do you mean?”

  The glare he shot her should have burned her to dust on the spot. He gave her a slight shake. “Enough with your lies. They will do you no service, and each one that falls from your lips condemns you all the more.”

  What?

  Their faces close together, she stared at him, struck by the completely inappropriate realization that this was as close as she’d been to an attractive man in two years.

  Well, if she didn’t count Nate from earlier today, and she didn’t.

  Her lips trembled and he gave her an arrested glance, and then a slight shake. “Cease your wiles, woman, they will have no effect upon me.”

  Her wiles? She glanced away and bit her lip to keep the hysterical laughter bubbling in check.

  After a few minutes her mind started to work again. At least she wasn’t in the trunk of a car being driven miles away from their original start point.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out, but with the horse walking the way it was, they couldn’t have gotten far.

  When they finally arrived at the other side of the wooded area, she breathed easier.

  Not being murdered in the woods was a good thing.

  She looked around for something familiar, a building she might recognize or some sort of landmark, but there was nothing. Just a meadow laid out before them, some hills, and the two of them.

  She hadn’t been in Scotland long enough to have a feel for where she might be, but had to assume Stirling Castle must be behind them.

  “This is Scotland,” she said the words aloud, convinced she had that right, at least. The guy had a rougher sort of accent, but the more he’d spoken, the more she’d been convinced it was real. And English rather than Scottish. “We’re headed toward England?”

  “Of course.”

  The guy seemed to have calmed, and she decided to try out the narrative he’d been following earlier, with the Dinsdale/ Wolfsbane story line.

  She glanced at the red material covering the horse, the silver wolf on the man’s black belt. “You are Sir Wallace Wolfsbane.”

  After a long moment he said, “Lord Wolfsbane. Or just Wolfsbane if you prefer.”

  She searched her mind to remember the story line. It wasn’t necessary for her to read scripts as, the day before, one of the director’s assistants provided a write up explaining the look the director wanted. That didn’t mean she hadn’t absorbed some of the storyline via the many conversations she’d had with the main players.

  “So, you are the villain, and Sir Dinsdale is the hero,” she said the words slowly, testing them out, but regretted them instantly when her captor tensed into lines of rage.

  “You consider Dinsdale a hero? More like a goatish, bunch-backed wretch!”

  Yikes! “Look, I just work in makeup, I must’ve gotten the story wrong. So, you’re the hero?”

  The noise he made was practically a growl. “I am no one’s hero, of that you can be assured.”

  So ... he didn’t appreciate the title of villain, but didn’t want to be the hero either.

  Actors.

  After a few moments she said, “Look, I’ll beg if you’d like me to.”

  “Never beg for what ye want, lass. Simply take.”

  She released a long breath. Easy for him to say.

  They rode in silence for another thirty minutes or so until she finally couldn’t take it. “How long until we get where we’re going?”

  She fought the urge to giggle as she realized she just basically asked the adult version of, are we there yet?

  He didn’t answer.

  She wondered if she dared start the mantra with him.

  Are we there yet?

  Are we there yet?

  Are we there yet?

  It amused her to think about it but, so close to wondering if she was going to be murdered and dumped in the woods, decided being a brat wasn’t in her best interests.

  Her restraint bore fruit when he said, “’Tis but a day’s journey.”

  “On horseback? Or by car? Does that mean we’ll be there today? Or tomorrow?”

  “Quiet yourself so I can hear my own thoughts.”

  As she’d been silent for so long, she thought his comment was a little too much, but refrained from giving him any lip.

  She eventually found herself dozing, worn from emotions, the stiffness in her body relaxing by increments until she had one cheek pressed against his chest.

  She was about to sit up, but why bother? If they were going to be here all day, she might as well get as comfortable as she could. Besides, he was large, strong, and warm.

  She’d probably have a chainmail pattern pressed into her cheek, but what did it matter?

  It was her last thought before drifting off.

  Chapter 6

  The female slept, and he was grateful for it.

  She produced a myriad of unexpected emotions within him; confused him, and on several occasions her chattering made him wish to laugh, though he didn’t understand all her words.

  When she spoke of Sir Rupert, she enraged him. She considered the man a hero? More a back-stabbing, pustules coward, a misbegotten cur, same as his sire.

  Why risk all by aiding Sir Rupert and leaping in front of Wallace’s mount?

  Her admiration suggested the lady might have strong feelings for him. Did she love him?

  His teeth clenched at the thought of it. Dinsdales were liars and cheats. Had this female truly thrown herself in harm’s way in an attempt to save Sir Rupert his comeuppance?

  Mayhap Sir Rupert seduced the girl with pretty words until she’d succumbed to the emotion. Perhaps he desired the lady in return, and she’d thrown herself forward without previous design or intent?

  She should be dead now. That she was not, was nothing short of a miracle and left him feeling curiously possessive.

  In controlling his mount, he’d spared her life.

  If she should be dead now, was she not his to do with as he wished?

  He stayed alert as they traveled, as even a knight could be attacked by a band of knaves, something he might normally welcome on a day such as this, but with the lady slumbering within his arms, perhaps not.

  She reclined against him, her breathing rough, arms loose, cheek pressed to his chest, and he gave the top of her head a quick nuzzle with his chin.

  Several strands of her silky blonde hair caught on his rough cheek.

  He didn’t bother to bat it away, some part of him liking even that small connection.

  Though he might wish it otherwise, he could not deny her dazzling beauty had an effect upon him.

  He breathed in, enjoying her delectable, feminine scent, his hand at her waist branded by her warmth.

  He hated the thought that Sir Rupert had somehow gained loyalty and affection from such a creature.

  What did Sir Rupert think of her in Wallace’s possession? Satisfaction surged as he considered the loss the other man must feel, if only to his pride.

  Mayhap he should marry the lass as his own betrothal had been broken upon his father’s disgrace.

  He did not know any Joneses, didn’t recognize her father’s name, but could not help but think such a prize would be valuable to Sir Rupert, whether he held her in affection or no.

  He hoped so. He truly hoped so. Whatever a Dinsdale wanted or held, was something Wallace would eventually take.

  He’d seek vengeance until honor was satisfied, or his life ended. Anything less was unacceptable.

/>   He looked down at the girl in his arms once more.

  If he married her, and any protested, he could argue the king had given the lady over to him in front of half the court.

  Mayhap instead of cursing the lass for her part in today’s ill-fortune, rather he should thank her.

  He’d take Sir Rupert’s lady, and the fortune about her throat, and get away with it.

  Who was here to stop him?

  When Cara woke, she realized they’d stopped.

  She lifted her head and quickly wiped her mouth which she suspected had been hanging open, and then glanced up at her erstwhile captor. “What’s going on?”

  Lifting her up, he dismounted, holding her effortlessly in one arm, the movement so smooth, she felt her heart flutter.

  Wow.

  Maybe Lord Wolfsbane really should be the hero of the piece.

  Or perhaps she was simply attracted to bad boys.

  He held onto her until she could stand on her own wobbly legs, a gesture she fully appreciated.

  She glanced up at him. “Thanks.”

  “My lady,” he said with a gallant nod of his head.

  My lady? That was a big step up from harlot. What had happened since she’d last spoken to him?

  She decided it didn’t matter as she had more pressing concerns to take care of.

  “Uh, I’m just going behind that tree over there to take care of some business.”

  She headed in that direction, half expecting him to stop her, but when she turned to look over her shoulder, he was tethering the horse to a branch while he watched her walk away.

  Rounding the tree, she decided it didn’t give her enough privacy, and walked another ten steps or so to the other side of a bush.

  She glanced around to make sure she was alone — as if she’d seen another soul in hours — before hiking her dress.

  A few minutes later, clothes righted, she rounded the bush, and could see the horse drinking from a small stream, but Wolfsbane was nowhere to be seen.

  He was probably behind his own bush, and she backed out of sight once more.

  She could leave right now.