Page 7 of A Dark and Stormy Knight (A Knight’s Tale #3)

T he 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, pustulous 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 her upright 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.

If she followed the stream, it would probably lead to civilization, eventually, and she’d no more than had the thought, than she acted on it; rushing down the slight hill, ducking under branches, and finding a barely discernible path by the side of the stream which she followed immediately.

Her heart pounded, and she repeatedly glanced behind her, her heightened fear making her think Wolfsbane would catch her at any moment.

But he didn’t. More than five minutes passed, and then ten, and she was still rushing along what she thought might be an animal trail, getting scraped by occasional branches and even falling once, before picking herself up and hurrying on.

Fifteen minutes, twenty, she was starting to realize she’d actually done it, gotten away from him and his crazy act, and fear was replaced with euphoria.

She finally walked, giving herself a chance to catch her breath, her heart to slow.

She chuckled. Mr. Scary wasn’t infallible after all, was he?

A few minutes later, the trees and bushes narrowed, not a path so much as a game trail.

The foliage thickened, the trees pushed in on her, and soon, bent in half, she shoved her way through a hole in the greenery and stumbled out the other side into a glade.

Three men cooking something over a fire, gaped at her.

She drew in a breath, released it, tears springing to her eyes as she smiled slowly. “Oh, thank goodness. You guys don’t know how happy I am to see you. Is there any chance I can borrow one of your cell phones?”

The three men straightened, two of them looking like they might be brothers, and a third, taller one, smiled at her, missing and blackened teeth showing he was in desperate need of a dentist.

For a moment, they just stared, and then turned and spoke to each other in a guttural language.

Since this was Scotland, she suspected it was Gaelic, though she didn’t know it was still in use in the general population.

Surely, they knew English? “Cell phone?” She mimed putting a phone to her ear and looked at them expectantly.

One of them came forward and it wasn’t until he was upon her, grasping her arm in a pinching, tight grip, that she understood he meant her harm.

She jerked her arm away, and he scowled, gripped her again, and hauled her forward, the smell of his body odor gagging her.

“What are you doing?” She fought him, hitting his arm and trying to yank out of his grasp. Seriously, what were the chances of being kidnapped twice in one day?

The leering grins directed her way had her stomach tightening and her breath catching as understanding dawned.

This wasn’t a kidnapping.

One of the men reached forward, lifted the pendant, and spoke to her in that harsh language before laughing. He suddenly yanked the necklace, cutting into the back of her neck.

She screamed, panic and disbelief snaking through her, settling in her stomach, weakening her.

Forget that!

She fought in earnest, and managed to get away for a moment before brother number two grabbed her from behind.

She screamed out her fear and anger, turning on him, scratching, punching, and kicking.

Against the one, she probably could have escaped, but the other two circled around and captured her arms.

She screamed again, kicked out and missed as the three of them laughed, speaking again in that strange language, driving her insane.

She struggled, thrashing, fighting, screaming until her throat ached.

Two of the men wrestled her to the ground, and she kicked in earnest as the third undid his pants.

“No!” she screeched her revulsion.

His head was sliced off and rolled away from her, only adding to the horror and disbelief.

As the man’s headless body fell backward, the other two released her and jumped up from the ground, their screams war cries as they attacked the man now standing in front of her.

Wolfsbane backed up as the two men came at him, giving her time to scramble away.

As soon as she was on her feet, she saw the two attackers falling to the ground to join their friend, dead before they hit the dirt.

Gasping, shaking, she wrapped her arms around herself as Wolfsbane wiped his sword on a dead man’s clothes, sheathed it, and held out a hand to her. “Come with me.”

If she wanted to live? The line from The Terminator sprang inanely to mind and before he’d finished speaking, she was running to him, jumping into his arms as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

He swept her up and she cried, clinging to him, pressing her face to his neck as he walked.

A few minutes later, he somehow managed to mount his horse again with her still sobbing in his arms, his strength now a comfort, where it had been a threat earlier.

They started moving.

Wolfsbane’s skin was warm, and over the next few minutes, the connection calmed her.

Her sobs spaced farther apart until she was finally able to loosen the arms she’d wrapped around his neck.

They were in the same position they’d been in all day, and yet everything was different.

She tilted her head and could only meet his intent gaze for a brief moment before her own drifted to his belt, which sported three silver wolves. He was her wolf. Her very own wolf. “Thank you.”

He made a rumbling noise. “You should not have run from me.”

She didn’t disagree. If she could take back the last hour of her life and live it differently, there was no question in her mind she would.

She cried on and off for a while, trying to come to terms with the fact she’d actually been attacked, and when she calmed, Wolfsbane offered her water from some sort of leather flask.

As the sun dropped low in the sky, he finally stopped, dismounted with them both once again, settled her on the ground, and then tethered his horse near a stream. “Stay here, and I will gather firewood.”

There was no way she was letting him out of her sight, and the moment he moved away, she trailed him like a shadow.

He turned his head, but did not say a word, and she reached forward and took his hand.

He didn’t react for a moment, but when he finally entwined their fingers, she took a quivering breath.

He only let her go to pick up firewood and she immediately set about helping him, feeling a pathetic need to please him, to pay him back for what he’d done.

She bundled the smaller sticks in her arms, staying out of his way while dogging his footsteps.

The horror of what she’d gone through slowly receded, leaving her numb.

If he hadn’t followed, if he hadn’t been willing to do violence on her behalf, she didn’t think she’d even be alive at this moment.

That made twice today he’d saved her with his skills.

She followed him back to watch him tether his horse again in a patch of grass, then watched his every move as he built a fire.

As soon as it flared to life, he went to his saddlebag and removed some items, and she followed once more, watching him set snares at the edge of bushes, some sort of loop attached to sticks he pounded into the ground with a rock.

When he finished setting three traps, she followed as he removed the saddle, set it in long grass, and rubbed down the horse.

He dug into the saddlebag, and then sat on a rock near the fire before handing her what looked like a piece of dried jerky.

When he started eating his own piece, she realized how hungry she was.

She sank down beside the rock, feeling like a Labrador Retriever, but unable to help herself.

Comforted by his closeness, she ate her jerky.

It was as if her entire world was now focused on him; her source of safety and protection. Her knight in shining armor. Or rather, chainmail. And she wasn’t about to let him out of her sight.

When they’d finished eating, he went to the stream, knelt and drank, and she did the same.

Standing, wiping at her mouth, despair slowly overwhelmed her.

She was exhausted, her spirit worn down, and doing her best not to think about what had almost happened.

If he hadn’t been there ...

But he had been.

She was all right.

And if she had to follow him around like a lost puppy for a while, then so be it.

* * *

It was almost dark when Wallace retrieved his bedroll and spread the animal skin on the ground near the fire, leaving the blanket on top.

He only had the one, and had determined hours ago that if she wasn’t amenable to sharing, she could go cold.

But, his feelings for her were now somewhat altered.

He’d not lie to himself. His feelings were completely altered.

He’d been so angry when she’d run off, and there’d been a part of him that thought to leave her to her fate.

A lady, traveling alone, wearing a fortune around her neck would not last the day.

He’d been right, hadn’t he?

But even as he’d thought to leave her behind, he was already in pursuit.

Once he’d determined the byway she’d followed, he’d retrieved his horse and shadowed on the bigger path wondering if she’d truly thought to elude him. Or thought him so easily defeated he could not follow a slip of a girl through the woods?

He’d enjoyed the hunt, and anticipated the quarrel to come as the female did love to squabble.

Her screams rattled him like nothing before, some dark, disturbed part of him roaring to life, racing to her rescue.

When he’d come upon the scene, found three knaves attacking her, naught could have stopped him killing them.

After the task was complete, he’d been angry at her once again, not trusting himself to so much as speak.

But the way she’d clung, burrowed into him, held him close, had quickly melted away the fury.

The way she’d not let him escape her sight …

A place in the vicinity of his heart, newly claimed, ached with the pleasure of it.

Who would she name hero now?

He was her champion.

When she’d hugged him so tightly, tendrils of her soul reached for his, melding them together.

As he fiddled with his leather arm gear, he scoffed.

Cara, standing nearby, jumped.

Even startling her made him feel rough.

He was used to being the villain, was glad when his name inspired fear, had no quarrel taking men’s lives if he judged it deserved.

Now, with this wee feminine bit of fluff, he didn’t so much as like her flinching in his presence.

He lifted an arm and she rushed forward, hugging him around his waist, burrowing into his side.

Whatever it was that melted inside of him, softened a bit more.

Since when had he prized a clinging female?

He considered it, as he wrapped his other arm around her and held her close.

In all honesty, had a female ever clung to him in his lifetime?

He felt like scoffing yet again, but did not wish to startle her further.

Still, back to the question of the bedroll. Perhaps he ought to just lie down and see how she reacted, and he could go forward from there.

The fire burned to embers, his mount was taken care of, and if he was alone, he’d simply wrap his blanket around him, roll to the ground and get some sleep.

His newfound feelings of tenderness came with concern. He did not wish the chainmail to chill her, so it would have to come off.

He released her and after a moment, she stepped back, looking lost.

He removed his belt. “My lady, if you would be so kind as to render me assistance?”

“Of course,” she said, giving him a blank look.

He held out an arm, and when she did not move, realized he might have to instruct her as she seemed unused to the task.

His arm dropped and his brows drew together. “Are you wed?” The harshly spoken words were out as he realized he’d never thought to ask.

“No.”

“Widowed?”

“No, I’ve never been married.”

His mood lightened, and he gestured her forward. “If you will unlatch here,” he indicated the ties on his arm leather and watched as she unlooped them.

“And here,” he indicated the other side, and she quickly loosened those as well.

He yanked both leathers off and tossed them aside.

“I will just bend forward and you can pull the chainmail off me.”

She struggled to do so for a moment, and her incompetence at the task filled him with an odd sort of satisfaction.

Thoughts of revenge against her were slowly replaced with thoughts of keeping her.

She was a maid, his for the taking, a dowry about her throat.

As his chain clinked to the ground, he stood, his wrinkled gambeson and tunic loosening about his body.

Anticipation built.

She stood before him, her gaze slightly anxious, watching what he would do next.

Was she worried he’d leave her, or violate her?

He walked toward the nearest bush to relieve himself, and she followed close behind.

That answered that. She did not wish to be without him.

Why that gave him such satisfaction, he did not know. “Do you wish for some privacy?”

She hesitated, and he gave her a nod and walked back toward the fire, only to hear her call out, “Wait!”

Again, dark satisfaction swirled through him. Perhaps it was that no one had ever needed him on such a personal level before, or simply that she was young and beautiful, but he’d not felt this lighthearted in a good, long while.

He turned back. “Aye?”

“Will you just wait for a moment? I ... I mean, turn your back, but wait for me?”

He gave her a nod and turned. Just being in her presence made him feel stronger, invincible, almost as if he’d enjoy another challenge, be it beast or man, just so he could champion her once again.

She approached and stood at his side, awaiting his guidance once more.

He moved to his blanket, picked it up, wrapped it around himself, and lowered to the ground.

He opened his arms. “Will you share my heat, my lady?”

For the first time since the attack, she hesitated. “That’s not code for something else, is it?”

He chuckled, glad to see some of her spunk returning, even as he felt disappointment that she did not wish to offer him a more satisfying reward. “Upon my honor, ’tis simply to keep warm.”

She slowly sank to her knees, and when he opened his arms wider, scooted forward until she lay flush with him, her head upon his shoulder.

He grasped her lower back, tugged her closer, and then tucked the blanket around her. He rested his head on the saddlebag, closed his eyes and tried to relax into sleep as was his custom.

She was soft in his arms, warm, and with her head on his shoulder, her hands on his chest, he couldn’t help but wish the material of her dress were not bunched between them.

Perhaps it was for the best.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tightened his arms. He listened for threats, attackers, aught that might harm her, her mere presence seeming to lend him strength.

Her breathing slowed, deepened, and when he was convinced she was asleep, he kissed the top of her silky head.

His enjoyment of the situation left him wondering if he’d ever be willing to sleep without her again.