Falling for Her Captor. Elisabeth Hobbes

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      ‘I wouldn’t advise heading into the woods, my lady. Who knows what wild animals or bandits you might find there?’

      Aline turned at the voice, a yelp of surprise bursting from her. The man in black was leaning against a tree, arms folded. He cocked his head to one side and smiled. ‘A creditable effort, my lady. I’m impressed, truly,’ he said. ‘However, I have orders to obey and I can’t let your escape attempts stand in the way.’

      Aline ran.

      She hurled herself into the woods without caring which direction, only knowing she had to get away. Branches and thorns tore at her dress and hands. With a stomach too empty and a throat too raw, every breath was becoming harder to take. Her strength was fading, but still she pushed on. Her pursuer stalked after her, moving at an almost leisurely pace and yet gaining ground with every step.

      The trees started to thin out and she found herself in a clearing. Frantically she looked around for anything that might serve as a weapon. Her eye fell on a fallen branch and she picked it up, her other hand grasping at a handful of dirt and leaves. As the man came between the trees she held the branch out as though it were a sword.

      ‘Stay back!’ she shouted.

      The man threw his head back and laughed, deep-throated and with genuine amusement.

      ‘What will you do if I don’t, my lady? Give me a splinter?’

      ‘I mean it,’ Aline spat, using all her will to keep her voice firm. ‘I’ll scream.’

      ‘Scream all you like, Lady Aline. The only people who can hear you are my men, and that would hardly be to your advantage.’

      He moved towards her and Aline thrust the branch forwards sharply. Her opponent took a step backwards, then abruptly lunged and knocked the branch sideways. Aline threw the handful of dirt in his face, and when he instinctively covered his eyes she ran again.

      She had barely reached the other side of the clearing before the man recovered. Picking up the branch, he hurled it hard at Aline. It caught her behind the knees and she jerked forward. Her legs tangled in her skirts and she landed heavily, palms outstretched. Before she could stand the man was on her. He rolled her over and pushed her back, one knee across her stomach, pinning her to the ground. She struggled to push him off, blindly clawing at his face with her nails. Her fingers pulled at the dark mane that flopped over his face, and she screamed all the obscenities she could recall.

      Astonishment showed in her assailant’s face at the fierceness with which she fought him. With one fluid movement he twisted to kneel astride her, his legs gripped tightly at either side of Aline’s waist, pinning her firmly. At a leisurely pace he reached a hand beneath his leather coat and removed a knife from the scabbard at his belt.

      A sob burst from Aline’s lips at the sight of it. She did not want to die—not here, not like this! But instead of slitting her throat, as she’d expected, the man reached for Aline’s skirt. With one swift movement he cut it open down the side. Aline’s stomach almost revolted as the memory of Dickon’s assault flashed through her mind. She redoubled her efforts to escape, beating against his chest with both fists and flailing wildly with her legs.

      ‘Don’t touch me!’ Aline screamed, grasping at his knife. ‘I will kill myself before I let you have me!’

      Her attacker sat back, genuine surprise flickering momentarily across his blue eyes. His mouth turned down with distaste at the implication of Aline’s words.

      ‘You rate your charms very highly, my lady! Don’t fear—I prefer my partners to be willing.’

      An unbidden sob of relief burst from Aline’s throat and her body sagged.

      The man’s smile faded, replaced by a softer expression. ‘I promise you, your honour is safe,’ he said solemnly.

      Without waiting for a reply he cut a strip of cloth from Aline’s dress and, lifting the pressure of his body, rolled Aline onto her front. He pulled her hands behind her back and bound them tightly. Though she dug her feet into the ground, Aline was unable to resist as the man put his arms about her waist and pulled her to her feet.

      ‘Walk,’ he instructed curtly. He gave her a gentle prod in the centre of her back.

      Hoping to surprise him, Aline launched her body backwards, knocking him off balance. She lashed out wildly, kicking the heel of her riding boot into his kneecap for good measure, and ran screaming as he doubled over with a satisfying grunt of pain.

      She had not run more than six paces before he caught her from behind by the neck of her dress. He knelt down and pulled her backwards against his body, his arm across her chest and throat. She felt the scratch of his beard against her neck. With the blood pounding in her throat, she writhed and twisted against the controlled strength in his arms. She had fought her hardest and he had barely raised a sweat!

      The man cut another strip from Aline’s skirt and bound her ankles together. Aline let fly another volley of curses, bucking wildly. In response the man laughed, unwound the cloth from about his neck and gagged her. He sat back against a tree, cross-legged, and folded his arms as Aline lay writhing angrily on the forest floor. She glared at him, hoping hate was clear in her face.

      The man did nothing, indifferent to her anger and clearly prepared to wait as long as necessary for Aline to surrender. She lay still as misery crept over her.

      ‘Good. You are beginning to see sense.’ He unwound himself and heaved Aline over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a bundle of straw. Whistling to himself, he carried her through the woods to the track, seemingly oblivious to the double-footed kicks she aimed at his chest.

      After an undignified journey for Aline they reached the cart. Relief flooded the faces of the two guards as the man in black strode towards them. Aline saw that the young guard sported a livid red mark across his cheek.

      ‘Duncan, explain,’ Aline’s captor said questioningly. The older guard saluted smartly.

      ‘He was stupid. He won’t be again,’ he answered gruffly.

      ‘Then it’s done with,’ the man in black said curtly to the youth. ‘But if anything like that happens again you answer to me.’

      The boy cast a reproachful look at Aline, then mumbled an apology. The man in black climbed into the cart and put Aline face-down on the mattress, turning her head towards his.

      ‘May I suggest you use this time to realise the foolishness of trying to escape, my lady?’ he said. He climbed down from the cart. ‘Move off,’ he shouted, and after a few moments they lurched forwards.

      Waves of nausea washed over Aline. She strangled a sob, shut her eyes and concentrated on not vomiting again. She silently cursed Dickon for his betrayal, cursed herself for falling for it and for her clumsy escape attempt, and finally cursed the dark-haired man whose face swam before her eyes.

      She did not know how, but she swore that one day the man would pay for his treatment of her, and she consoled herself by picturing myriad deaths and humiliations for the arrogant swine.

Chapter Three

      They travelled for what felt like hours. A brief struggle convinced Aline СКАЧАТЬ