HerOutlandishStranger Read Online Free Page B

comfort himself.
    As dawn drew near, he pulled off the warming cover and
slipped from the cave, leaving the sleeping woman and carrying away exhaustion
and inevitable self-loathing. More of the same old crap.
    At least this time he could recall why he’d earned it.

Chapter Three
     
    When Eliza woke, she didn’t open her eyes immediately.
Perhaps if she rested a few moments longer the pain behind her eyes would go
away. Her head throbbed and her mouth felt as if someone had emptied an entire
fireplace’s ashes into it. Each inhalation of the chilled, dank air of the cave
seemed to increase the pounding. Alas, no. More rest wouldn’t help.
    She rolled onto her knees and noticed the place between her
legs felt heavy and ached as if the dream of the man had actually happened. Her
fingers brushed her mouth. She even looked around, startled, for a sign of him.
No, utter nonsense. There was no evidence that anyone but her father had been
there.
    Hands shaking, she looked through her belongings, taking
stock of what he left in the cave with her. Oh her darling, idiot Papa. She
knew what he’d done and why he’d done it, even before she found the loving note
he’d tucked into her reticule along with all the money they had left. The coins
lay heavy and cold in her hand.
    But why did he leave all of this in her old absurd beaded
bag? As a reminder of the life they had lost? She lay down again, overcome. After
a few thick sobs, she stopped, then gingerly sat up again.
    Her head did not fall off, as she feared it might, but she
suddenly felt thirstier than she ever had in her entire life.
    She crawled to the cave entrance and squinted toward the
sun, which showed itself after several wintry days. She cautiously pulled
herself out of the cave, darting looks in every direction before she stood up
straight.
    Papa had left her in a place she knew, near the cliffs, a
few miles from their Spanish villa. The weak wintery sun showed her which
direction to go. She’d find some water, not difficult after the days of snow
and rain, then trudge the miles back to the villa to her father where he waited
for the advancing armies.
    She and her father had argued for days after all other
foreigners and most of the other civilians had fled the village after hearing
rumors of soldiers in the area. If Papa insisted she hide, why couldn’t he hide
with her? If he must stay and try to negotiate to save the village, she would
stay too.
    He hadn’t bothered to debate this point with her, and had
only repeated, “No, my love. You shall not stay.”
    She should have guessed that he would simply take action.
Her father was a quiet man, but extremely stubborn. She could be stubborn too,
as she’d soon remind him.
    Something trickled down the inside of her thigh. Too early
for her courses, and it wasn’t blood. No point in worrying about being
ladylike. She quickly squatted and touched herself gingerly. Her womanly parts
felt oddly swollen and sensitive. When she brushed her fingers over herself she
flinched at the odd pleasure—the sort she usually associated with certain
dreams of faceless men. Last night’s drug-induced man apparently held more
strength than the usual sort conjured by dreams. For a moment, her hand had
touched herself, and she wondered what had happened to cause such moisture and
sensitivity.
    The word “ravished” came to her but she dismissed it. During
her time in this country, she’d witnessed the horror of rape and there was no
kindness in the act. And the thought itself was absurd. Lovers don’t float into
caves in war zones, enact tender scenes, then float away again.
    She straightened up and shook her skirts into place. At any
rate, Eliza had no use for that sort of relation with a man. Brian had been
enough.
    The dream, or hallucination, was ridiculous, just entirely
vivid because of the drug Papa had put into her wine. Put into her vinegar, she
thought, as the nauseating taste of the stuff they’d been drinking came