Tamed By Your Desire Part 8

Red Alex whistled, a low and musical sound. A horse appeared from the shadows, reins trailing the ground. Red Alex mounted, with Fayth under his arm, and flung her across his lap. She tried to sit up, but he was loading a quarrel into his latch on her back.

"I can't ride like this-what are you doing?"

"Shut your mouth and keep your head down." His helm dropped onto her head. She quickly secured the strap under her chin. His thighs tightened as he spurred the horse forward. Fayth closed her eyes and held on. Men began to shout. Fayth heard arrows whoosh by, pounding feet pursuing. Someone grabbed her leg, trying to drag her off. Fayth clawed at Red Alex's thigh, clinging to stay on. She heard the click of Alex's latch releasing the quarrel, followed by a scream of agony. Her leg was released. And then there was the hollow clop of boards beneath the horse's hooves. Moments later, the horse was in a flat run, Red Alex's hand firmly on her back, arrows filling the air around them.

Fayth thought she might vomit. Her stomach and chest and thighs were battered from the ride. When the arrows stopped, he didn't slow the horse, though he slid his arm around her waist, lifting her so she could swing her leg over the horse's withers.

They sped through the darkness, his arm a solid band around her waist, pressing her hard against his chest. If he was going to kill her, she reasoned, she'd be dead by now. So it was punishment he had in mind. She refused to even consider how he planned to extract vengeance from her hide and focused instead on the advantages this gave her. Escape was possible.

After a time, he slowed the horse to a walk. Where were his men? Why had he no plunder-except her? Then she remembered the question he'd asked when he thought she was a servant. Where is Carlisle's bride? And earlier today, in the forest, I've been following ye. Her heart dipped down to her toes, urgency and desperation filling her anew. She had to get away from him.

Full dark had fallen. The moon rose high above them, huge in the cloudless sky. They rode for an hour before he finally stopped. Fayth had been cataloging all the ways she could escape from him and none of them seemed likely. After the last time, he would be too diligent, too suspicious. He dismounted, dragging her down with him, never releasing her. They were at a burn. The horse's hooves crunched on the stony bank as it went to drink.

Fayth unhooked the strap under her chin and dragged the helm from her head. Her cap fell off with it. She kept hold of the helm-it was a good weapon.

As she glowered up at him, memories of their first encounter flooded her mind. She'd deceived her sister and pretended to be a wh.o.r.e so she could let in Wesley and his band of broken men. Unfortunately, Red Alex had been utterly taken in by her ruse and had been all too willing for a tumble. He must hate her-not only for tricking him and wounding him, but for making him the weak link that let in a swarm of raiders. Raiders who murdered his people and stole his sister-in-law.

Fayth seemed to shrink even smaller under the heat of his stare. She was significantly shorter than Red Alex, who was a giant of a man. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her eyes were currently trained on his leather-clad chest. His hands dropped away from her shoulders. He began to remove his gloves. Fayth let her eyes trail upward, over wide shoulders and a neck thick with muscle. His chin was dark with whiskers, his mouth a hard, unforgiving line. His hair appeared brown in the moonlight, but she knew it was roan dark and threaded with blond and copper. His gloves off, he held them both in one hand, and folded his arms over his chest.

Fayth met his eyes finally, a fist squeezing her heart. His gaze was steady and thoughtful.

She swallowed hard. "Well... what now?"

"I believe, the last time we met, we were transacting some business."

She blinked up at him. "What...?" Transacting business? She'd been pretending to be a wh.o.r.e... Her eyes widened and she took a step back. "You can't mean..."

His mouth curved wickedly.

"You know I didn't mean it... it was a ploy, nothing more."

He followed her, the smile softening the hard line of his mouth. "Ah, little one-that was your first mistake. You don't play games with me. You started it and I mean to finish it."

0="4"4.

ALEX HAD SPENT much time imagining this moment, playing it over and over again in his mind. Now that the time had come and the vixen stood defiantly before him, he found he could do none of the things he'd imagined. Oh, he wanted to strangle her-and ravish her. But d.a.m.n it all if she didn't look like an innocent, incapable of the acts she'd committed. And she was as bonny as he'd remembered. More so perhaps, as his memory did her no justice. He felt foolish for having believed her fiction. No wh.o.r.e was ever so finely kept.

His men awaited him in the wood, he knew. His cousin Eliot probably stirred them up for another raid-anything to take command. And Skelley, the voice of reason, was rarely heard when Alex was absent. But Alex could not go on, not until he had it out with her. Though she looked a sweet maid, he knew she wasn't. She was a temptress and a witch. She'd bewitched him that night, insinuated herself into his thoughts, his dreams. He would not let her get away with it.

He took another step toward her, intimidating her. She took a step back. She was afraid, but a brave little thing. She didn't run, or cower. She held his gaze and he could see the wheels turning in her head, calculating. She was wily, this one. She'd escaped him once today and he'd discovered she ran swift as a deer. He would keep her within arm's length at all times.

"You'll have to rape me then," she said. "I'd rather die than allow a beast like you to rut on me."

"A beast," he mused. How apt. He felt like a beast of late-single-minded, obsessed. He could not banish her from his mind. He knew of only one way. To have her and be done with it. He caught the front of her tunic before she could back any farther away. In a flash of silver, he saw his helm arc upward, toward his head. He pulled back and it grazed his cheek, opening the skin.

She tried to swing it again, but had lost the advantage. He caught it and yanked it from her grasp, tossing it into the darkness. She clawed at his hand, kicked at his booted ankles, but was strangely silent. No screaming. No calling for help this time. Only the harsh sound of her breath, panting with fear and exertion.

He caught her chin, turning her face up. "Why don't you scream?"

Her warm breath puffed over his hand and the desire coiled deep in his belly. He had to get her out of his blood.

"Out here you don't know who will come to your rescue."

He smiled at her logic. "Carlisle might come for you."

Her gaze darted upward, tangling with his. Oh, she didn't want that.

His smile grew. "It seems you're in a difficult situation."

She pulled her chin from his hand. "What do you want? To rape me? Kill me? Torture me? Turn me over to your brother for imprisonment?"

"Hmm... They all sound good. You choose."

She stopped struggling and looked up at him. Her throat worked as she swallowed. Even dressed as a boy he wanted her. Her tongue darted out, small and pink, wetting her lips. "If I... give you what you want, will you let me go?"

Alex's breath stilled. He could see the moon in her dark eyes. Her hair curled wildly around her shoulders, the soft breeze disturbing it, sending a ringlet fluttering across her parted lips. He saw his hand reach up and push it away. His fingers shook. She didn't flinch.

"Will you?" she asked, her voice soft as the air.

She was playing games with him again. But then so was he. He could never have her-not the way he wanted. He knew this and yet still, he hesitated. His cheek stung. He touched the wound and looked at his fingers. Blood smeared them.

"What do I want?" He still held the front of her tunic, crumpled in his fist. It looked so harsh, his enormous hand, grabbing at her.

She took a step closer, placed her small hand on the leather that covered his belly. "You want me... willing."

His knuckles touched her chest and though there was coa.r.s.e homespun between his skin and hers, his imagination was a living thing. It was another trick. But what could she do? No jug of whisky was present for her to smash over his head. If she possessed a weapon hidden on her person she'd have used it by now. Perhaps she planned to take one of his weapons, or scratch his eyes out. None of these things would be easy for her, small as she was.

And, of course, he could not let her go. So much depended on her value to others that he had no choice but to use her. To pretend he would release her simply to satisfy his base l.u.s.t was disgusting. And yet his body was perfectly willing to be disgusting and more.

He unbuckled his sword belt, tossing the weapons in the gra.s.s several feet away. He had a dagger strapped to his thigh and another in his boot. He discarded them both. Bear, his horse, had finished drinking and wandered over to nose at his weapons.

She had stepped away while he did this, her eyes sweeping the landscape.

"Hoping for rescue?"

Her gaze inspected him from head to foot, an eyebrow raised in derision. "I'm wondering how long this will take and thinking you won't delay me overmuch."

He laughed softly at her insult. Could she truly be so worldly or was it an act? He suspected a great deal about Fayth Graham was a facade. "You're a slow learner, la.s.sie. I tend to take insults as challenges to prove myself."

She blanched slightly, the sarcasm draining from her expression. "Will you let me go?"

He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against his body. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her hair. Her smell had haunted him. That and the taste of her mouth. She rested her hands on his arms. He ran one hand up her back, to her neck. She was so small, so fragile. She trembled, but she turned her face up, her eyes large pools of darkness.

"Will you let me go?"

"Mayhap. If I find you pleasing." Another lie. He tried not to be repulsed by what he was doing. After all, she was an expert deceiver. Why should he feel a shred of guilt for playing her game?

Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her lashes fanned against her cheeks. Her skin was not the pure white that most women coveted, but lightly tanned. Pale freckles cl.u.s.tered across the bridge of her nose. She was no wh.o.r.e, though he'd called her that and worse in the past month. He hesitated between desire and conscience. She was not truly willing. She was bartering her body for her life.

His father wouldn't have hesitated. He'd have nailed her to the ground by now, screaming for mercy. He'd see her brutally punished for all she'd done and hope she lived through it so he could ransom her.