Читать книгу Embrace The Dawn - Jackie Summers - Страница 10

He should have tied her up last night, as he had planned, Nat scolded himself, as he scraped the dark stubble from his chin with a knife blade. His mouth curved in a humorless smile. A little late to think of that, he thought wryly, feeling his body tighten at the idea of that tempting morsel who had turned his life topsy-turvy. Bloody hell, it had been half an hour since he had charged from the cottage and he wasn’t able to control himself any more now than he had then.

He nicked his chin. “Damn!” From an overhead limb, a wren twittered an angry retort and flew away. Nat scowled after the bird, then swiped at the spot of blood on his chin. Swearing again, he dipped his knife into the river, this time determined to concentrate on his shaving.

When he had finished, he splashed water on his face, shook his wet hair and finished dressing, noting that since she had unmasked him, his lust hadn’t abated one bloody inch.

Last night, when he covered her with the blanket, she had stirred, and in sleep turned her face to him. His heart melted. She appeared so helpless, despite her brave show. The firelight bathed her face, the long coppery hair fanning against the pillows, her thick lashes shadowing her high cheekbones. How he had wanted to cradle her in his arms and protect her...more than protect her, if he was honest.

Aye, she was too innocent to know the weapon she held. Those feminine charms would get her anything she had a wish for, when she learned how to use them. A rush of longing gripped him.

He should have taken her then, but it would be exactly what Twining would expect of the Black Fox. Nat kicked a stone with his boot, sending the rock into the air. He swore again while he filled both buckets from the river and lugged them back to the cottage, vowing with each step not to touch her again.

Nat kicked the door open. She knelt by the fire, quietly brushing her hair. He gave her a fleeting glance before he strode into the room. From the corner of his eye, he noticed she had changed into one of the frocks from the trunk—a high-necked, pink-striped long-sleeved gown that emphasized her full breasts and tiny waist.

A bowl of apples had been placed on the table. He shot her a suspicious glance as he set the water buckets beside it.

“I found an apple tree behind the cottage and I—I picked some fruit for breakfast.” Her eyes met his briefly.

Searching for a way to escape was more like it. “While you were outside, I hope you noticed there are no paths to follow, if you’re planning an escape.” He tried not to smile at her feigned look of indignation. “I’m sure you found the river. Aye, boats and skiffs go by regularly, but if you’re thinking of catching a ride with some kindly soul who’ll promise to help you find your father, be forewarned.” His eyes flashed with wariness. “Twining will have your description hammered to every oak in the shire. Show yourself at the river and that kindly soul will trade you for a few shiny coins without thinking twice.”

Nat pulled the chair around and straddled the seat. “Listen carefully, Anne, because I’ll only tell you once. I must leave you while I escort the king to the next safe house.” He ignored the flash of worry that darkened the blue-green shards in her eyes. “I could tie you up, but you’re a smart lass. You know, if Twining’s men find you, they’ll send you back to your uncle.”

“What will you do with me?” she demanded. Her anger forced a bravery he knew she didn’t feel.

“I’ve decided to keep you here until the king is safely out of the country. I’ll send someone from the inn every few days to bring you supplies. You’ll only be delayed a few weeks.”

“Why should I believe you?

Nat flinched inwardly at her accusation, but he knew he could never explain why he felt deceit could be justified if for political gain. But how could Anne understand? That lesson occurred from witnessing war, or in his case, who his father was: Nigel Adams, the man who zealously carried out Cromwell’s carnage against Ireland in order to satisfy his own vengeance against the bastard son he disowned. And until Nat could make up for what his father had done, he would lie or do anything else necessary to accomplish the task.

“Think what you will,” he said offhandedly. “I promise I won’t abandon you.” He could only pray he could keep his word.

“Ha!”

“Whether you trust me or not, you know the chances of finding your father are greater with me than by yourself.” He saw her lips part slightly and he knew his words hit their mark. Relieved, he added, “Help yourself to anything in the cottage you may need. During the day, don’t burn a fire. If a search party smells smoke, they’ll come to inquire. If I don’t return tonight, I’ll send a woman to stay with you.”

“A woman? One of your harlots, I suppose?”

He tried not to smile. “You’ll like Emma.”

Anne arched her eyebrows and gave a disdainful sniff. “You’re just saying that so I’ll cooperate with you!”

“Cooperate?” He tried to keep a straight face. “Is that what you think you’ve been doing?”

Anne felt her temper ignite. “How else would you expect me to act? You insult me, threaten me, and...” A flush of heat rose to her cheeks when she remembered his intimate kisses. She shot him a sidelong look and, by the hint of a smile playing about his mouth, she knew he guessed what she was thinking. “Oh, you!” Her feelings burst forth like a bonfire. “You’re a heartless, unscrupulous, mulish...bastard!”

“Unscrupulous, mulish, and certainly a bastard,” he said, indulgently, “but not heartless, surely.” He laughed in the same teasing way he had when he found her hiding in the bushes. “If I was heartless, I certainly wouldn’t be sitting here, indulging you in—”

“Indulging me!” Anne’s fingers squeezed into her palms. “You’re the most impossible man!” She drew in a deep breath. “Well, if you’re going to leave, leave!”

Nat strode to the saddlebags and hoisted them over his shoulder, then he glanced back at her as he opened the door. She refused to look at him. “What if something happens to you and you don’t come back?” she asked, staring at her fingers.

Nat smiled. “You’d best pray that it doesn’t.”

* * *

That night, Anne slept fitfully, her dreams fraught with vague and frightening visions. She awoke startled, blood pounding in her veins. Moon glow from the window near the bed flooded across the blankets and into the room. By the low embers in the fireplace, she had slept longer than she first thought.

Had a noise awakened her? She drew the blanket around herself and tiptoed to the door, listening. If someone had snuck up the stone path, she would have heard the crunch of footsteps. Maybe it was nothing but her tightly strung nerves that fired her mind with devils, she reasoned.

But what if Twining and his search parties had caught Nat and tortured him into revealing her whereabouts? Anne dashed for the iron skillet and squeezed the handle for reassurance. If someone was there, they’d not take her without a fight.

The door creaked open and before she could react, Nat stepped across the threshold, saddlebags slung over his shoulder. In the fireplace’s glow, she saw surprise, then appreciation in the glittering dark eyes as his gaze lazily swept over her. Suddenly aware of how she must look brandishing the black skillet above her head—dressed in the thin night rail, her thick braid hanging over her shoulder—she dropped the weapon and snatched the long-forgotten blanket from the floor to cover herself. She felt herself blush with his bold perusal.

He glanced at the skillet, then back at her. “Expecting company?” His mouth tilted in a crooked smile.

A prickle of irritation washed over her. Did he expect to see her grovel with relief because he had decided to return? She had pride, after all.

She hung the skillet at the hearth and tossed another log upon the ash-covered embers. Behind her, she heard his boot steps across the floor, then the saddlebags slump in the corner.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon.” She poked at the embers until they burst noisily into hungry flames around the dry, peeling bark. The room brightened in a rosy glow.

She heard a loud creak of the bed ropes. She turned and in the brightening fire glow, she noticed the dark circles of fatigue beneath his eyes, shadowing his face. Her gaze followed him as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and removed his boots.

“The king is missing,” he said finally, the words sounding like a death knell.

Anne’s knees felt weak and she slumped to a chair. “What happened?” was all she could think to ask.

“From what my cousin Tom said, a squad of Roundheads charged the inn just before dawn, looking for you.” He cast her a sharp look as he dropped the first boot to the floor. “After they left, Tom returned to the king’s room. His bed hadn’t been slept in and he’d vanished.”

And you believe it’s my fault, Anne thought, but remained silent. “What are you going to do?” she asked instead.

“I’ll strike out tomorrow, and God willing, I’ll find him. He might have seen the soldiers and hid in the woods until they left. In the dark, he may have gotten lost.” He dropped the last boot with a resounding thud.

Surely he didn’t expect her to remain alone in this remote cottage while he traipsed all over the shire? “Before you leave, please take me to Jane Herrick. You can’t expect me to wait until you find the king—”

“I expect you to shut up. I’m tired and I’m going to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.” He gave her a black look that quelled any further argument before he fell back across the bed.

“You can’t sleep in my bed.”

He lifted his head and squinted one eye. “Whose bed? Damn it, wench, I was born in this bed.”

Anne stepped back. “Very well, I’ll curl up on—” she glanced about the tiny room “—the settle.”

“I’ll warn you, it’s damned uncomfortable.” She heard him chuckle as his dark head settled back against the pillow.