Falling for Her Captor (9 page)

‘Please don’t do this, Hugh,’ Aline implored, her voice faltering. ‘Don’t leave me here.’

It was the first time she had used his name and Hugh felt a fist of ice punch him in his heart. ‘I tried to warn you to be cautious but you didn’t heed me. What would you have me do now, Aline? Disobey Stephen and end up down here myself? What good would that do either of us?’

He turned and walked to the door. A wave of remorse crashed over him, stopping him in his tracks. He returned and stood in front of Aline, torn. A weaker man might have pulled her into his arms, kissed her with such passion that it would overwhelm them both. A stronger man would have carried her from the cell, damning the consequences of such disobedience. Hugh, however, simply took off his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling the edges firmly together.

He looked into Aline’s eyes and said earnestly, ‘If he gives you a second opportunity don’t be so foolish as to ignore it—otherwise there will be no way I can help you. He is not known for his fair temper.’

Before she could respond he turned and left the cell, slammed the door behind him and left Aline in the darkness. Outside, he watched as the jailer slid the bolt across the door.

Hugh backed the man against the wall. ‘Keep her safe or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’

The man nodded nervously. It wasn’t enough to salve Hugh’s conscience but it was all he could do for now. Moodily he stormed out into the night.

Chapter Nine

I
t was past midnight and Hugh was drunk.

He had gone from the cells to his rooms, where his manservant had exclaimed with a mixture of horror and curiosity at the sight of Hugh’s injuries and the stitches, pressing his master for details of the procedure. Explaining Aline’s unorthodox treatment had done nothing to salve his conscience at leaving her, serving only to remind him of the touch of her fingers upon his chest.

He’d ordered hot water and scrubbed viciously at his hair and skin. Perhaps by ridding himself of the stench from the dungeon he could erase the memories of the woman he had left there.

It had not worked.

He’d set himself to work, dealing with issues that had arisen in his absence. After reading the same document three times without seeing the content he had decided he neither knew nor cared which tenant should be given grazing rights. Irritably he’d pushed his chair from the desk, pacing back and forth for an hour. Finally he had stormed off into the narrow streets of the citadel, hoping that walking would bring a solution.

Now he sat in the corner of a grimy inn. An empty wine jug stood on the table in front of him. The noise and bustle were failing to raise his mood, but his wound was starting to ease, helped partly by the wine. It was becoming more of an irritation than a pain. He pulled at his collar to move the cloth, remembering the feeling of Aline’s hands moving across his neck and shoulder.

For a brief moment he had felt a flash of attraction between them. His memory drifted to the sensation of her slender body above his as she treated his injuries, then further back to when he’d fought her into submission on the forest floor. He closed his eyes, daydreaming that she had not been fighting to escape, that she had not wanted or needed to, but had been returning his desire with her own.

But this was no good! None of the women he had bedded had managed to get inside his head to this extent, and Aline was so far beyond his reach. There was nothing to be gained in dwelling on her. He had delivered her to the Duke, as ordered, and his part in the matter was done. All he could do was protect her—though she would never know or care that he did.

He reached for his cup. It was empty, so he signalled across the room for another jug.

A serving girl brought it over. Dark-eyed and pretty, with hair too red to be natural, she put the wine on the table. When Hugh smiled his thanks the girl straddled his lap and leaned down to kiss his neck. Usually he would welcome this sort of distraction, but impatiently he brushed her hands away.

The memory of Aline lying asleep next to him—and how long ago the morning now seemed—brought an unexpected flush of heat to his neck. He remembered the way she’d stared at him as he’d washed, failing to hide her curiosity. The alarm in her eyes had been transformed to hungry interest, as though she’d never seen a man in that state of undress before. It struck him then that most likely she had not. Bewilderingly, he felt himself harden—which caused the girl on his lap to giggle and move in again to kiss him.

She whispered a suggestion in Hugh’s ear.

Why not?
he thought.

He shooed the girl off his lap and stood. Rummaging in the pouch at his belt to find payment for the wine, his fingers closed around something unfamiliar. Curiously he drew it out. Aline’s necklace! He had never returned it after taunting her.

The girl was watching him, hands on hips and head on one side. ‘Are you coming or not?’ she asked impatiently.

Hugh held Aline’s gem tightly in his hand for a moment, before slipping it safely into his pouch. He flung some coins onto the table. With a nod of his head towards the girl he pushed his way through the crowd to the staircase leading to the upper floor.

In the dingy upstairs room he watched as the girl lit a lantern and fussed around the room. Impatiently he pulled her towards him and kissed her deeply, prising open her lips with his tongue. She returned the kiss with a deep moan of pleasure—
fake, naturally,
he thought. His hand found her breast and he traced the outline of her nipple with the tip of his thumb. At that she pushed her tongue deeper into his mouth.

Still kissing the girl, he manoeuvred his way to the low bed and lay back. The girl slid her hand down to pull the shirt from his breeches. Hugh sighed deeply as he felt her cool fingers at his waist. He closed his eyes, anticipating the release that was to come.

The girl straddled him and ran her fingers up his chest until her hand brushed the edge of his bandage. At this almost exact recreation of the night before Hugh froze, all desire gone. These dark eyes were not the ones he wanted to gaze into, the lips not those he yearned to kiss.

He reached out and gently took hold of her wrist. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘What for?’ the girl asked.

‘I can’t do this. You aren’t the one I want.’

She climbed off the bed, the stream of abuse spewing from her lips casting aspersions on Hugh’s anatomy, his capabilities, and every aspect of his being. Hugh stood up, and with her jibes echoing in his ears stormed out of the room and back to the dungeons.

Ignoring the protests of the jailer, he made his way back to Aline’s cell. No sound came from the room. He lifted a torch and craned his neck to peer through the narrow grille in the door. Aline lay on her side, facing the door, Hugh’s cloak wrapped tightly around her. The pale braid of hair fell coiled like a rope around her neck.

Hugh watched as she slept. He wanted to wake her, but her face was serene and untroubled and he knew it would only be for his sake. That she was peaceful now was enough—why disturb her rest? Satisfied with what he had seen, he returned to his room and fell into bed. Aline’s face was the last thing he pictured before sleep claimed him, too.

* * *

Aline opened her eyes as she heard the door opening and was unsurprised to see Hugh enter. He was clean now, his beard trimmed close, his hair damp and curling about his jaw. Instead of the familiar leathers he wore a soft wool tunic.

Handsome in the candlelight, he smiled at her and crossed to where she lay. He gently peeled back the cloak from around her body and lowered himself onto the bed. His eyes remained fixed on hers as he undid the ribbon at the neck of her thin shift and pushed it down over her shoulders. He began to move his mouth over hers, gently at first, then firmer and faster. The scent of him was warm and musky and Aline closed her eyes, tilting her head back in pleasure at the sensation.

She gasped as his mouth started to work downwards, alternately planting soft kisses and nipping at her neck and shoulders. By the time his lips brushed her breast she could barely draw breath, and she arched her back to come up and meet his touch.

Unexpectedly he bit down hard, and the pain made her cry out. Her eyes flew open to find him looking down at her coldly. Before her eyes, his features changed into those of the Duke.

Stephen opened his mouth, revealing a wolf’s teeth. He snarled and ripped at Aline’s throat, laughing as her blood spurted out in a stream…

Aline woke with a cry, her cheeks and neck flushed and hot to the touch. Her dream had been so vivid, and she blinked hard to rid her mind of Stephen’s eyes coldly watching her die. Hugh’s cloak had fallen from her as she slept and she shivered as she felt around with trembling fingers until she found it. She pulled it around her shoulders and buried her face in the warm softness, conscious of the scent on the wool of the man who had invaded her sleep in such an intimate manner.

The sound of the bolt being scraped back and the door opening made her jump. The jailer walked into the cell and pushed a bowl at her with a grunt, then stuck a bucket in the corner of the room and left again, leaving her in near blackness. She sniffed the contents of the bowl, then dipped in a cautious finger. It was pottage of some sort. The smell turned her stomach, but she hadn’t eaten in so long she forced the greasy liquid down, then made grateful use of the bucket.

With the edge of her hunger blunted Aline closed her eyes, trying to conjure the comforting image of her rooms at home, her friends and grandfather—but this led her into dark thoughts. Try though she might, she could not stop berating herself.
This is all my fault. My folly with Dickon led me to
being captured and now Leavingham will be lost!

Time passed
.

Aline paced from end to end of the small room, counting the number of steps it took. She practised all the sword movements she could remember. She stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck to peer through the grille in the door. Outside her cell the passageway was empty. In the flickering light of a brazier she made out the silhouette of the jailer, slumped on a low stool.

‘I want to speak to the Duke!’ she yelled. Then, ‘Find me Sir Hugh!’

The man slept on. The only sound was screams coming from somewhere nearby. Aline’s stomach heaved and a cold sweat pooled in the small of her back. Her throat tightened and she moved away from the door hastily. She wondered how long she would be able to remain there before she broke down and agreed to any condition the Duke cared to name.

More time passed.

Aline wasn’t sure exactly how much, though her stomach was starting to ache from hunger again. Footsteps in the passageway broke the silence and she jumped. She moved towards the back wall as she heard the bolts drawn back. The door swung open, revealing two guards, who walked in and gruffly ordered her to follow.

She was taken back through the dungeons and out across the courtyard. The sun was setting and Aline realised with a start that almost a day had passed since she had been taken to the cells. The two soldiers escorted her through the corridors before they pulled her to a stop outside the same state-room as the previous day. She had no time to compose herself before she was ushered inside.

The Duke was again waiting for her, standing by the fire with a heavy goblet in his hand. Two empty bottles on the table indicated he was probably not in a mood to be defied. The Duke gave an exaggerated bow as Aline entered and indicated a velvet-covered chair at the side of the table. Glad of some comfort for the first time that day, she sank into it, anxiously waiting to see what would happen.

‘I hope a day in the dungeon has made you see some sense and fully appreciate my offer of remaining as a guest, Aline?’ Stephen slurred.

Aline’s body ached, she was cold and hungry and she needed sleep, but at that moment she would have denied it absolutely rather than admit it to this man. ‘I have not given you permission to call me by my name,’ she told him haughtily.

If Stephen was angered by her lack of emotion he did not show it. He lifted her hand to his lips and laughed again. He ignored her attempts to pull away. ‘The consent is not yours to give or withhold,
my lady
.’

He indicated a piece of parchment and a quill on the table. ‘This document contains my demands. I will return you to Leavingham unharmed when your grandfather surrenders to me the seal of the High Lord and abdicates in my favour. You will be freed in exchange for that. I want a guarantee that there will be no acts of vengeance or attempts to regain power. He shall continue to rule Leavingham until his death, whereupon it will become part of Roxholm’s lands.’

He paused to let his words sink in, watching her expression closely.

‘The High Lord won’t agree to that!’ Aline said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt.

‘Oh, I think he will,’ Stephen said pleasantly. ‘That is unless he wants to live with the knowledge that, having already lost his son and grandson, he condemned his granddaughter to life in my dungeon. Now, to the other matter I mentioned. I still mean to marry you, but I can see you need time to become accustomed to the idea. I am not an unfeeling man, so I shall not compel you now. However, when your grandfather dies I will announce our betrothal.’ He smiled at her and rested his hand on the back of Aline’s chair. ‘Of course if you were to choose before then to accept of your own volition it would make things much easier all round.’

Aline glared at the man. ‘I’ll
never
marry you!’

‘You will,’ Stephen assured her. ‘You need to be married. Your grandfather understands that. Your future will be decided by the High Lord, as it should be. You must count yourself lucky you have had this many years of freedom. After all, you would have been wed many years ago if your father and brother had not died. I will need heirs, and how better to secure my position than marriage to the true heir? Besides, who else would have you now, after three days in the wilds with my soldiers and no chaperon? Your reputation is ruined. Now, sign the letter.’

Aline bowed her head to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. She had refused so many marriages for what now seemed such insignificant reasons. Life as the consort of the new High Lord would be her penance. Still, she tried one final gesture of resistance.

‘And if I refuse to sign it?’ she asked.

‘Oh, Aline, you are magnificent. So few of my court will dare to defy me in anything. Marriage to you will be a challenge I anticipate with pleasure.’

Stephen laughed, then leaned in close to her.

‘It won’t make the slightest difference. But until I receive a reply I’ll throw you back into the dungeons—only this time into the condemned cell. I’m sure the inhabitants will appreciate a pretty plaything in the days before their necks are stretched. I estimate it will take at least six days for my messenger to travel to Leavingham and back. Imagine their hands on you…imagine their mouths. How long do you think you will last before you lose your mind?’

Bile rose in Aline’s throat. Whatever she owed to her grandfather and Leavingham, no one could ask
that
of her. Reluctantly she picked up the quill and wrote her name with a trembling hand, then signed it ‘your loyal granddaughter’—the code that would tell her grandfather that she was writing under duress.

‘Thank you, my lady.’ Stephen smiled. He scrutinised her signature before folding the letter and sealing it with wax. ‘That was perfectly simple, wasn’t it? Now I shall arrange for you to be moved to more appropriate accommodation for the remainder of your stay. I have a room already prepared for you.’