With her eyes on Miles, she began to walk backward, circling him as she made her way toward the tent flap. Slowly, he turned on the stool and watched her. Outside she heard the whinny of a horse and she prayed that if she could just make it outside she’d be free.
Even though her eyes never left Miles’s, she still never saw him move. One moment he was sitting, relaxed, on the stool and the next, just as her hand touched the tent flap, he was beside her, his hand around her wrist. She brought the ax straight down toward his shoulder but he caught her other wrist and held her.
She stood still, imprisoned lightly, painlessly, by his grip, and glared up at him. He was so close she could feel his breath on her forehead. As he looked down at her, he seemed to be waiting for something and then he looked puzzled.
With eyes as hard as the emeralds they resembled, she glared up at him. “And now what comes next?” she asked, hatred in her voice. “Do you beat me first or rape me? Or perhaps you like them both at the same time. I am a virgin and I’ve heard it hurts most the first time. No doubt my added pain will give you much pleasure.”
For just a second, his eyes widened as if in astonishment and it was the first unguarded expression Elizabeth had seen on his face. His gray eyes locked into hers so hard that she looked away.
“I can endure what you deal out,” she said quietly, “and if your wish is to see me beg, you will fail.”
His hand released her wrist holding the tent flap and he cupped the left side of her cheek, gently turning her back to look at him.
She stiffened at his touch, hating his hands on her.
“Who are you?” he half whispered.
She straightened her spine even more and hatred flamed in her eyes. “I am your enemy. I am Elizabeth Chatworth.”
Something passed quickly across his face and then was gone. After a long moment, he removed his hand from her cheek and, after a backward step, he released her other wrist. “You may keep the ax if it makes you feel safer but I cannot let you leave.”
As if dismissing her, he turned his back and walked toward the center of the tent.
Immediately, Elizabeth was through the tent flap and out of the tent and, just as quickly, Miles was beside her, his hand once again encircling her wrist.
“I cannot let you leave,” he repeated, this time more firmly. His eyes traveled downward to her bare legs and up again. “You aren’t dressed for running away. Come inside and I’ll send my man to purchase clothes.”
She jerked away from him. The sun was setting and in the twilight he looked even darker. “I want no clothes from you. I want nothing from any Montgomery. My brother will—”
She broke off at his look.
“Do not mention the name of your brother to me. He killed my sister.”
Miles recaptured her wrist and gave a light tug. “Now I must insist that you come inside. My men will be returning soon and I don’t think they should see you dressed like this.”
She held her ground. “What does it matter? Isn’t it the custom of men like you to throw female captives to their knights when they’ve finished with them?”
She wasn’t sure but she thought she saw just a flicker of a smile on Miles’s lips. “Elizabeth,” he began, then paused. “Come inside and we’ll talk there.” He turned toward the dark trees near them. “Guy!” he bellowed, making Elizabeth jump.
Immediately, the giant stepped into the clearing. After only a cursory glance at Elizabeth, he looked at Miles.
“Send someone into the village and find some suitable women’s clothes. Spend what you need.” The voice Miles used to his man was quite different from the one he used with her.
“Send me with him,” Elizabeth said quickly. “I will talk to my brother and he will be so grateful that you’ve released me unharmed that it will end this feud between the Chatworths and Montgomerys.”
Miles turned back to her and his eyes were hard. “Don’t beg, Elizabeth.”
Without thought but with a cry of rage, she lifted the ax again and aimed for his head. In one seemingly practiced motion, he pulled the ax from her hand, flung it away and swung her into his arms.
She wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of struggling against him and instead she stiffened, hating the feel of his clothes against her skin. The fox pelt hung to one side, baring the leg against his body.
He carried her inside the tent and gently laid her on on
e of the cots.
“Why do you bother with clothes for me?” she hissed. “Perhaps you should do your coupling in the fields like the animal you are.”
He walked away, his back to her, and poured two goblets of wine from a silver vessel on the table. “Elizabeth,” he said, “if you keep asking me to make love to you, I will eventually succumb to your temptations.” He turned, walked toward her and sat on a stool a few feet away. “You’ve had a long day and you must be tired and hungry.” He held out a full wine goblet to her.