Chapter Three #3
With a growl, Dunstan stepped back, releasing her, and she slid down the bole of the tree to collapse at his feet.
Refusing to look at her, he turned and whistled for his horse.
By faith, he had never taken a woman against her will!
He had rarely taken one outside of the confines of her own perfumed bed.
What in God’s name had possessed him to nearly force himself upon a lady his own father had entrusted to him?
Dunstan grimaced in disgust. Obviously, he had been too long without sex to react so heatedly…and to the wren, of all women! Instead of wanting to take her, he should want to strangle her after the dance she had led him!
Anger, long-suppressed, rushed through him, sluicing away the last vestiges of his desire. Just what had possessed her to try to escape him in the first place? The whole business was so ludicrous. Dunstan did not care to admit how close she had come to succeeding. He whirled on her suddenly.
“Why the devil were you up the tree?”
She stopped dusting herself off to gaze directly at him, and Dunstan noticed, not for the first time, that she possessed an oddly affecting grace.
Even after such treatment as he had just given her, she held herself calmly, displaying no distress.
The color in her cheeks was still high, but she gave no other sign of their strange encounter.
“I…I saw a wild boar and climbed up to get out of its path.”
For a moment, Dunstan just stood there staring at her, his mouth open in astonishment. Then he threw back his head and laughed uproariously. She watched him serenely the entire time, just as if her explanation had not been the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.
“Perhaps you would care to tell me why no one else saw or heard this animal? Or why a lady such as yourself would not scream and run away, but instead crawl up a tree? A decidedly unladylike response, I would say,” Dunstan said.
She was looking at him curiously, those enormous eyes of hers wide with something he could not identify, but that obviously had nothing whatsoever to do with what he was saying. “Well?” he prodded her.
“I was too afraid to scream,” she answered without demur. The forthright manner in which she spoke nearly made him doubt his own presumptions, but Dunstan knew better. He put his hands on his hips and assessed her.
“And how is it that we spent a goodly time searching for you and calling for you, directly beneath this very same tree, and you made no response?”
“I believe I must have fainted dead away from sheer fright,” she said, blithely meeting his gaze.
“I see.” Dunstan eased out the words with no little effort. She was an audacious wench, if nothing else. “And you have been up there all this time, precariously balanced, but not awake—even to our cries?”
She nodded sweetly. What a liar! And she looked so innocent, too.
No wonder she had easily gulled his brothers.
From what Dunstan understood, she had convinced them she did not even know her own name.
Who could tell what game the girl was playing?
Dunstan fully admitted that he did not, nor was he particularly interested in discovering the truth.
As tempting as it was to join in the play, he had neither the time nor the energy at this point in his life.
He frowned as he studied her closely. “And this muteness that affects you occurs whenever you are frightened?”
“Oh, yes, my lord…Dunstan. May I call you Dunstan?” she asked, as nicely as if they were ensconced in a cozy solar exchanging sweetmeats and he had not just wasted precious hours dangling after her. He nodded curtly, then turned to his approaching horse.
He stood there for a moment, his feet apart, and then slanted a glance toward her.
She was trying, uselessly, to better her hair, which he suspected resisted constraints of any kind.
He grinned, certain she was not watching him, and let loose a battle cry that had been known to freeze the blood of his enemies.
His companion jumped and shrieked—loudly. With a smug smile, Dunstan mounted his horse and held out a hand to her. “It seems, my lady, that your voice has returned—in full force.”
“That is hardly fair, Dunstan,” she said, accepting his aid grudgingly. “I was not frightened by your mean-spirited gesture, merely startled.”
He grinned wider. “Do not lie to me, my lady. And do not run away from me again, or I shall make you regret it,” he warned. Then he grasped her fingers, lifting her up in front of him as easily as a child, and tucked her between his thighs.
He was going to elaborate on his threat, but she moved, settling herself comfortably against him, and desire flared again in his loins, much to his annoyance. With a grunt, he kicked his horse to a gallop along the road.
She must be some kind of witch, Dunstan told himself, for she was trying to enchant him as surely as she had his brothers. He could just picture her wiggling that generous bottom like a lure, and all of them, led by the all-too-randy Stephen, jumping to the bait.
Suddenly Dunstan wondered if she were still a maid.
She was, after all, past marriageable age, and she had been living with six robust males for the past winter…
. With a grimace, Dunstan shook aside such thoughts as unimportant.
It mattered not to him if she had bedded all of his brothers.
His job was simply to return her to Baddersly.
At that moment, a movement of the horse brought his groin up against her even more tightly, and Dunstan gritted his teeth. So far his hopes for an uneventful journey had been dashed, and now, from the feel of things, it was not going to be very peaceful trip, either.