Chapter 6
For an instant, Broc didn’t believe his ears. He screwed his face at her. “What do you mean why not?”
She seemed to think about her question a moment and then rephrased it. “Just what do you intend to do with me if you don’t mean to ransom me, kill me or rape me?”
Her question amused him, though it shouldn’t have. Broc tried not to laugh.
The shudder of her delicate shoulders told him she was frightened, but she was hardly cowering before him this moment, and he couldn’t help but respect her for standing up to him. She stood as though demanding his explanation, and he had a sudden ridiculous notion to kiss her.
When was the last time he had even thought about kissing a woman? Other than a distant affection he held for Page, he damned well couldn’t remember.
He stared at her, trying to deny the thought, but it had already escaped. And like a wild horse fled from a barn, it refused to return from whence it came.
He damned well wanted to kiss her.
He set the candle down upon the table and watched the play of its golden light upon her body. Like a goddess she stood proudly before him and he couldn’t remember a woman ever looking so deliciously exotic, so purely feminine.
She was tall but lean with the most perfect curves he had ever imagined running his hands over—full breasts that beckoned to his palms, a tiny waist that made him want to test its girth with his fingers, full hips that teased a man’s imagination, long legs that made him yearn to feel them wrapped about his neck.
His mouth went dry as he admired her.
He wondered idly what she tasted like.
Mayhap not so idly.
He tried to recall himself, but couldn’t keep from imagining those sweet lips upon his own, soft and full. They were lips made for loving a man and he wondered what they would feel like wandering his body.
Christ.
He pushed away his lustful thoughts, swallowing at the sudden thickness in his throat. Dutifully, he ignored the stirring in his loins.
“I tried to explain already, but ye wouldna listen.”
She said nothing, merely cocked her head at him, and he assured her at once, “Your brother is fine, lass. You have my word.”
He could tell that she wanted to believe him. Her eyes pleaded with him.
“I truly mean you no harm.”
Still she listened, though her expression was dubious still, and he was grateful for the opportunity to finally explain. He wanted to help if he could. “I took ye only because I believed you to be in danger.”
She lifted her chin, challenging him. “Fie! I see the way you look at me!”
He tensed at her insinuation. “How is that?”
For an instant, she didn’t speak, merely glared at him.
“As though you want me, and do not deny it!”
Anger flashed through him. He had done nothing but try to help her and she dared to question his honor—or mayhap because she spoke the truth and was looking at him now as though he were somehow beneath her.
He reached out before he could stop himself, seizing her by the arm, jerking her against him, glaring down into her face.
“I see—because I’m a barbarian Scot I cannot control myself, is that right?” He wanted her to feel the hardness of his body, wanted her to know that he had been this way from the instant he had spied her. He wanted her to understand how long he had managed to restrain himself.
“You are the one who claimed you were a barbarian who ate women and dogs and used trees for toothpicks, not I!”
He pressed her more firmly against him, willing her to understand.
She arched one of her perfect brows. “I have never met any man who was willing to deny temptation. Why should you be any different?”
The statement made him wonder how many men she had tempted. Though, God’s truth, why should he care if she had bedded half of England?
Aye, why should he be any different.
Fury clouded his thinking. He drew her fully against him, stealing a kiss.
His mouth bruised hers, taking without giving, and Elizabet’s heart hammered like a ram against her ribs.
The more she struggled, the harder he kissed her, until her knees grew wobbly and gave beneath her. Only when she clung to him weakly did he end the assault upon her mouth. But he didn’t release her, and she was almost grateful, because if he had, she would have crumpled into a pile at his feet.
He left her breathless and without words even to protest his scandalous embrace.
“Is that what you expected of me?”
Elizabet’s heart beat too fiercely. Words would not come. Confusion enveloped her.
Why was she not more angered by the liberties he had taken? And why was her heart fluttering so wildly within her breast? Fear mayhap, but something else as well.
When he released her and stepped away, it wasn’t entirely relief she felt. She wavered on her feet and took a single step back, reaching for the table for support.
“As God is my witness, I do not intend to ransom ye, nor to kill ye! Neither do I intend to abuse you! If it were my intention to do so, I wouldna be standing here trying to reason with you.”
Somehow, she managed to find her aplomb. “What danger could I possibly be in?” she asked. “I traveled with my brother and my father’s men. What reason could they have to harm me?”
It was a fitting question. One she fully expected him to answer if she was to believe him.
“How should I know,” he allowed, still glaring at her. “I know only this. I stood looking directly at that bowman, and he did not see me at all. His gaze was trained upon you.”
Elizabet blinked. “What bowman? Why should I believe a word you say?”
He let fly a string of curses in frustration. “The one I tried to tell ye about, woman! You were his target. I have no reason to lie to you!”
Elizabet straightened but said nothing. He made no further advances, and she had the terrible feeling he was speaking the truth.
Neither of them said a word for the longest instant, merely stared at each other. Elizabet studied him, trying to discern the truth.
The anger seemed to drain from him even as she watched. “Och, lass, I wanted only the opportunity to tell ye privately what I saw.” His tone was calmer now. “If ye dinna believe me, leave.” He waved her to the door. “Go.”
She lifted both her brows. “Truly?”
“Aye, but before ye do, remember that I made no move toward you in the forest, not until the bowman presented himself.” To prove he meant what he said, he stepped out of her way, leaving the path clear to the door. “Though if I were you, I’d watch my back, lass.”
Elizabet didn’t move, didn’t seem to be able to lift her feet.
“Well, what are ye waiting for?” he asked. “You’re free to go.”
She merely stared at him.
He didn’t owe her a bloody damned thing, Broc told himself.
She wasn’t his responsibility.
If she wished to leave, so be it. He wouldn’t stop her. He couldn’t make her accept his help—except that someone was trying to kill her, and the only thing Broc knew for certain was that it wasn’t him.
He hoped she would stay.
If she would let him, he would be her voice and shield her from harm.
She started toward the door and hesitated, though she didn’t look at him.
He made no move to stop her, save to say, “I promise to help if ye choose to stay.”
Still she hesitated, staring hard at the door. She peered over her shoulder at him, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
Broc crossed his arms, letting her make up her own mind. He sensed her strength, her need to be in control. If he begged her to stay, she would go. If he tried to stop her, she would await an opportunity to escape. She must remain of her own accord.
Their gazes held.
She tilted him a strange look, one he couldn’t quite decipher, and then turned around and started walking slowly toward the door.
He waited patiently.
She kept walking, but slower.
And then she halted abruptly and turned. “You truly do not mean to stop me?”
Broc shook his head. “I said what I wished to say. The rest is up to you.”
She turned again and contemplated the door. She was very near it, and he’d yet to move. She took another step toward it.
“I know without doubt,” he told her, “that someone out there is trying to kill you.”
She stopped and cast him a questioning look over her shoulder. “How do you know it was not you the bowman wished to fell?”
“Because the man’s eyes never met mine—not once—though I stared directly at him. He was watching you and only you.”
She screwed her face as though she could not believe him, as though she didn’t wish to, but her gut was whispering the truth and she couldn’t deny it.
“And ye didna see it,” he continued, “but his arrow did strike the tree you were standing near. In fact, had I not brought you down, he wouldna have missed. His aim was true.”
She shook her head, struggling with his revelation. “I-I saw no arrow,” she contended.
“Och, lass, I would have taken time to show ye, if only I could have. Your brother assailed me, and I made the best decision I knew to make.”
She cast him a resentful glance. “My brother was defending me.”
“As I would have, were you my blood,” he assured. His arms remained crossed, and he had still yet to move.
He could tell the instant she began to believe him, because her shoulders slumped, and she turned around, pondering his words.
“Jesu,” she exclaimed, and returned to the table and sat, looking confused. “I cannot fathom why he should wish me dead,” she said low.
Elizabet tried to recall the incident clearly.
Could this man possibly be speaking the truth?
They had been talking in a harmless manner. And truthfully, at the time she hadn’t felt the least bit threatened by his presence, merely annoyed that he was trying to steal her dog.
“My dog!” she said with a gasp, springing up from the chair in alarm. She hadn’t even thought about Harpy in all this time. “She’ll be lost!”
“I’m certain they took care of her, lass, but I’ll find out,” he reassured her. “I gi’ ye my word. And I’ll bring her to you if I can.”