His Lady of Castlemora. Joanna Fulford

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      Panic-stricken now, she redoubled her efforts. ‘Let go of me! Put me down!’

      He retained his hold with difficulty. ‘What the devil …?’

      ‘I said let me go!’

      In another woman he’d have suspected playful protest and half-hearted struggle to increase his ardour, but there was nothing coy about her tone or expression and nothing half-hearted about her struggles. He frowned.

      ‘Hold still, you little hellion. I’m not going to hurt you.’

      ‘Then put me down.’

      Hearing the note of fear beneath her command he hesitated. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

      ‘How can you ask me that, you clod?’

      ‘Clod is it? Perhaps I should show you otherwise.’

      She almost lunged out of his arms. ‘You’ll have to kill me first.’

      ‘I have no intention of killing you, you little fool, only of pleasuring you.’

      ‘Never!’

      The challenge was there and the temptation. He gritted his teeth, only too aware of the hot ache in his loins, of understanding that he wanted her more than any woman he could remember, and knowing how easy it would be to see his will met. Then he looked into her face. It reaffirmed the fear and reluctance he had seen before. Passion began to ebb. He’d seen enough of violence and violation to last him a lifetime. He wouldn’t inflict that on any woman, least of all this one.

      ‘For one who desires to escape a man’s attentions you are very scantily clad.’

      She made no reply to this but the look in her eyes was eloquent enough. His frown deepened.

      ‘Have no fear. I’ll not take a woman against her will.’

      To her unspeakable relief he slackened his hold and set her on her feet. Grabbing the linen sheet she drew it higher, clutching it close. Her face was very pale, her heart thundering against her ribs.

      He glared at her. ‘I think you’d better explain.’

      ‘I … It’s not what you think. In truth it is not. I thought only to bathe.’

      ‘A foolish thought,’ he replied. ‘Does your husband know you ride out alone?’

      ‘I am not married.’ That much was true at any rate and she had no intention of enlightening him about the rest.

      The news surprised him. She was of more than marriageable age and fair besides. ‘Your father then?’

      She shook her head. ‘He does not know.’

      ‘He should keep a closer watch on you. It’s madness for a woman to ride this country alone. Anything might have happened; rape is the least of it. You could as easily get your throat cut.’

      Her cheeks burned, as much for the knowledge of her own folly as for the justice of the rebuke. The stranger’s expression was thunderous, his strength frightening. When she thought of what he could have done, what he might still do, her stomach wallowed. She just had to pray he’d meant it when he said he’d never forced a woman.

      Though she could not know it, much of his anger was directed at himself, realising what he had so nearly done, what he would still like to do. Imagination sent another surge of heat to his groin. With an effort he controlled it. Then he bent and retrieved her clothes, tossing them to her.

      ‘Get dressed.’

      She caught the garments awkwardly. He made no move to turn away. Annoyance mingled with fear.

      ‘Are you going to watch?’

      ‘It’s a little late for modesty now, sweetheart.’

      Biting back the hot reply that sprang to her lips, she hurriedly slipped on the kirtle and let the linen towel fall before donning her gown. The stranger’s gaze never wavered. He handed her the woven girdle and watched her fasten it. She turned away from him to put on her stockings, tying her garters with shaking hands. Then she slid her feet into her shoes. He surveyed her critically.

      ‘A little dishevelled but decent at least,’ he observed.

      Isabelle glared at him. Ban smiled faintly, acknowledging her courage, but his blue eyes held a dangerous glint. ‘You are haughty for one who reveals her charms so freely.’

      Anger began to replace anxiety. ‘I did not deliberately reveal myself to you.’

      ‘The outcome might well have been the same. Fortunately for you, I have no taste for raping virgins.’

      Virginity was a state long lost though she had no intention of sharing the irony. If he thought her experienced he might well change his mind and finish what he’d begun.

      ‘No,’ she retorted, ‘only for gloating.’

      He stared at her, incredulous. ‘You ungrateful little vixen! I ought to warm your backside for that.’

      ‘You wouldn’t d—’ Seeing his expression alter she bit the words off abruptly, recognising thin ice.

      ‘Wouldn’t dare? Try me, and you won’t sit down for a week.’

      Isabelle didn’t care to put the matter to the test. She’d suffered quite enough humiliation at his hands.

      ‘I’m minded to take you home myself and tell your father to thrash you,’ he went on. ‘It would teach you better sense.’

      She paled a little, in fury now as much as fear. She’d experienced quite enough thrashings at the hands of men who thought it their God-given right to mete out punishment to the weaker sex. Resentment welled but she repressed it. Caution was needed here. If her father found out so would Murdo. The consequences didn’t bear thinking about. No matter how much it went against the grain it would be better to play the part of the contrite, young virgin.

      She lowered her eyes. ‘Please, don’t. I won’t do it again, I swear it.’

      Ban had no trouble believing that. She’d had a fright but the lesson had been well learned. Now she seemed only young and vulnerable.

      ‘I suggest you go home and stay there,’ he said.

      Taking her arm in a firm clasp he led her to the waiting palfrey. The hold didn’t hurt but it would not be resisted either. She could feel its heat through the stuff of her gown. They reached the horse but he didn’t wait for her to mount. Lifting her with the same insulting ease as before, he tossed her up into the saddle instead. Then he handed her the reins.

      ‘I doubt if we shall meet again, so I’ll bid you Godspeed.’

      She threw him an eloquent look and turned the horse’s head. ‘We shall not meet again. At least, not if I see you first.’

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