Part 8 (1/2)

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.