Excerpt: His Stolen Bride
Book 1: Stolen Brides Series
Moments later, the door opened and her captor returned, carrying an armful of clothing.
“I know these are not the sort of garments you are accustomed to, milady. But they are necessary for our disguise.”
“Our disguise?” She watched as he set each piece on the bed. All matched the brown homespun that her captor and his friend wore: a pair of leggings, a long tunic, a belt, and dark leather boots.
“Those searching for us will be looking for a pilgrim traveling with a finely dressed lady,” he explained, “not three pilgrim men returning from their journey to Chartres.”
“Clever,” she said tartly. “But I have already said I will not help you.”
Sighing, he sat on the bed next to the garments, rubbing his eyes. “Milady, I will not argue any more this night. ’Twould be so much easier if you would cooperate—”
“Easier for you.”
“Think on it,” he snapped. “You would be foolish to try and escape. De Villiers has every one of his guards out searching for you by now. You would stand no chance on your own. And you do not even know where you are. Even if you did, where could you go?”
She stiffened. “You do not know where I might run. And I am certainly not going to tell you.”
“I wager you would go straight to Tours,” he said coolly, “to the convent where you have lived since you were nine.”
Laurien stifled an exclamation, surprised and irritated that he knew so much about her. When he had abducted her from the wedding procession this morn, she had assumed that this man was an unthinking knave, all muscle and brawn.
But his intelligence was as sharp as the wicked blade hidden in his boot.
“You have planned this in every detail,” she said in frustration.
“You would do well to remember that, demoiselle. Be warned, if you attempt to escape, you will not get far.” He rose from the bed, grabbed the rope he had left on the floor, and stepped toward her.
This time Laurien did not back away from him.
“So you at least trust me that much. You are safer with me than you would be out there alone, and you know it.” He reached for her hands. “Shall I trust you as well? If I left you unbound tonight, you would be better able to sleep.”
She lifted her chin and returned his unyielding gaze. “Do what you will.”
His blue eyes darkened to the color of a moonlit sky. “You should be careful, milady, about issuing such an invitation.” He lifted one hand to stroke her unbruised cheek. “Did de Villiers take you after the betrothal last night?”
Laurien gasped, not sure which shocked her more—his gentle touch or his blunt question.
But she knew it was not uncommon for a groom to claim his bride after the betrothal, rather than waiting for the wedding night.
Which gave her an idea.
“Aye,” she said quickly. “Aye, he did, and I was a terrible disappointment. He will not want me back. I doubt he will go to any trouble at all to reclaim me. He is probably glad that I am gone. There are other heiresses in France for him to choose from. He will find himself a better bride. You might as well release me. At once.”
She stopped herself, realizing she had perhaps said a bit too much. She never seemed to know when to stop talking.
The abbess had always said it was her greatest fault.
Sir Darach regarded her with curiosity, amusement… and something more. The look in his eyes brought an odd flutter to her stomach.
Then, to her astonishment, he tilted her head up and kissed her.
He covered her mouth with his—and she felt as if she had suddenly been enveloped in a cascade of sparks. The tingling warmth from his touch did not compare to the sensations that whirled through her as his lips moved over hers. It was as if every part of her body had at once become brilliantly alive.
His beard was a startling, silky roughness against her skin. His other hand came to rest at her waist, drawing her in tight, and her body seemed to meld to his hard, lean lines, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her thoughts scattered. A sound escaped her, soft and deep, unlike any sound she had ever made in her life.
Then his tongue touched her lower lip and she gave a startled little squeak.
He suddenly lifted his mouth from hers, his eyes midnight blue, his voice husky. “You have never even been kissed before, leannan. You are as innocent as the day you first set foot in the convent.” He did not let her go, his hand still at her waist. “De Villiers did not take you after the betrothal, did he?”
She felt dizzy, as if she had drunk a tankard of honeyed wine all in one gulp. “Nay,” she admitted, her mind spinning, the truth spilling out. “I-I am a maiden still. I claimed illness to avoid spending any time in his company.”
The Scotsman brushed his thumb lightly over her chin. “I thought as much. A French demoiselle who has never even experienced a kiss in the French fashion.” He chuckled. “Only an innocent would be so shocked at the slightest thrust of my…” He left the rest unsaid, releasing her and stepping away a pace. “He will want you back, milady. No man would find you a disappointment, not in any way. There may be other heiresses in France—but the comte will want you back.”
He cleared his throat, then slung the rope over his shoulder, his voice turning brusque and commanding again. “For tonight, I will leave you unbound, so that you may sleep—but I will spend the night below your window, and Sir Malcolm outside your door. And when I return at first light, I suggest you be dressed in your new garments.” He held her gaze a moment more. “Because if you do not wish to change, I shall be willing to help.”