His Captive Read Online Free

away. No, she felt nothing toward him but fear.
    The Scot stowed his dagger.
    Relief poured through her.
    “You will be sore, but the stiffness will ease soon enough.” He rummaged through the roll tied upon the horse’s back and withdrew a garment. “Change into this.” It wasn’t a request. The Scot tugged her gag free, but he left the limp cloth hanging around her neck. His eyes held a warning. “It stays where it is for now. I will not be replacing the gag or the bond upon your hands unless you give me reason.”
    “Such twisted nobility that allows you to tie and kidnap a helpless woman,” she charged, her voice hoarse from misuse.
    He grunted. “Aye, helpless enough to douse us both in the burn.” Her abductor handed her the clothes and pointed toward a dense clump of brambles. “Change in that thicket. And be quick.”
    She hesitated. He’d not taken any gown from her home. “Where did you find this?”
    Satisfaction glinted in his eyes. “I stole it. Move.”
    Weak from the lengthy ride, her legs threatened to give as she did his bidding. Once behind a dense cluster of shrubs, she leaned against a tree for support. All she wanted was to be curled in her bed away from this outlaw who would steal her from her home.
    More emotion welled up in her throat. And what of Griffin? Had he returned to Rothfield Castle? Did he even know she was missing? Or was he at this moment imprisoned and charged with the murder of Lord James?
    “It is too quiet in there, lass.” The Scot’s harsh warning cut through the night.
    She tore off her gown and snapped back, “It is poor manners of me not to know of a drinking song to offer for your entertainment.”
    A muffled laugh echoed through the brush.
    With a grimace, she pulled on the simple linen gown he’d given her, ignoring its fit and cut. What did it matter how she was dressed? Unless she found a way to escape, once he received word that no ransom would be forthcoming, she would be dead.
    Nichola stepped out from behind the bushes to find her captor had changed as well. Gone were the trappings of an English gentleman. Now he wore snug trews that emphasized his well-muscled legs, a broadcloth tunic, a claymore secured behind his back in a leather sheath, and his dagger secured to the belt at his waist.
    Oddly, the garb suited his rough strength better than English trappings.
    The Scot waved her forward. “Come here.”
    His quiet burr rippled across her skin. Her body tightened in response. Shame filled her that her abductor could coax such unchaste yearnings for him.
    Though he was fair to gaze upon, she understood a man’s promises—and the lies to follow. Her betrothed had taught her well the extent of a man’s deception. While he beguiled her with his honeyed words, his intent was to gain access to her dowry. A fact she’d overheard when he’d not known she was near. And a fact he’d rued when she’d called off their engagement.
    She drew in a steadying breath as she stared at the Scot. No, she wasn’t tempted by him. ’Twas fatigue that played tricks upon her mind.
    “Lass.” When she remained still, he stepped toward her with a determined gait. He halted a pace away, close enough to touch her if he chose. His gaze slid over her with male appreciation, then rose to her chest where it lingered. “Your garb should do well enough.”
    She glanced down. In the first rays of morning light, she took in the simple peasant gown. The neckline plunged daringly low and exposed the swell of her breasts almost to her nipples. She looked like a whore!
    Nichola lifted her gaze. At the naked longing in his eyes, she stumbled back.
    The Scot caught her hand. “Calm yourself. I gave you my word you would not be harmed,” he said gruffly as he pulled her toward his steed.
    But she’d seen the heat in his eyes, desire that smoldered like kindling ready to flare. How could she trust him? The answer was simple. She couldn’t.
    He held out the water pouch. “You will