His Captive Read Online Free Page A

be thirsty.”
    With reserve, she took a drink, then handed it back to him.
    The Scot mounted his horse and pulled her to sit before him. His body was rigid against hers; his male warmth enveloping her. She tried to ignore him, and failed miserably.
    He nudged his steed into a canter. They traveled throughout the day, and the easy flow of hill to field slowly transformed into more rugged terrain.
    The hard travel sapped her of strength. Her body screamed for mercy, but except for several brief stops to water his mount, and eat cheese and bread washed down with warm wine, they continued on.
    As the sun started to sink in the horizon, they topped a tree-lined ridge. Below, the outline of a small village came into view. A smith’s anvil collided with the sound of a dog barking at their approach.
    Nichola owed his blunder in exposing her to her fellow countrymen to exhaustion. How could he not be tired? Since he’d abducted her over a day past, he’d not slept.
    The sad state of the earthen homes didn’t diminish her spirits. English subjects lived here. When they realized the Scot held her against her will, they would seize him, truss him up like a goose and cart him to the nearest dungeon.
    Her abductor’s fingers worked quickly on the gag still dangling around her neck. Once he’d loosened the tie, he shoved it into the saddle pack and out of sight.
    A smile brushed her lips. Further proof that tiredness skewed his mind. He’d nearly forgotten to remove the evidence of her abduction.
    “Keep quiet,” he warned. “I will do any talking that needs to be done.”
    She remained silent. If the opportunity came, she’d do whatever necessary to gain her freedom.
    As they entered narrow, mud-raked village streets, the stench of refuse hit her first. Children, half-clothed, their garments in tatters, ran by. Several women were beating clothes clean in a stream nearby. As they rode past, a few glanced toward them, then quickly averted their gaze.
    With the unrest between England and Scotland, especially in light of her abductor’s Scottish garb, why didn’t anyone halt them or at least send a messenger ahead to warn the others of their arrival? Or had they already done so?
    Unimpeded, they passed several homes, their thatch roofs patched over and again; walls sturdy yet unkempt. No men came into view to challenge their approach.
    Her unease grew. These people would help her, wouldn’t they?
    Her captor reined in his mount before a two-story, ramshackle tavern; the walls cracked, the door thick and marred by deep gouges, and a sign so battered she could make out nary a letter.
    The Scot dismounted. His devil’s black hair slid backward as he reached up and caught her by the waist. He scowled. “Not a word.”
    “What is inside?” she asked, the fear in her voice betraying her outward calm.
    Irritation dredged deep lines across his brow. “A room we will be staying in for the night.”
    Nichola tried to pry away his hands, but her own were shaking. Her reputation would be in ruins if he shared a room with her overnight. If it wasn’t already. And what was his intent toward her once locked within the chamber?
    “Please, let me go. I cannot—”
    “Silence.” He lifted her from his mount and tugged her toward the entry.
    Her aching legs balked as the Scot opened the door and hurried her inside as if familiar with the decrepit building.
    Not a good sign.
    Her slippers met with the compacted dirt floor as he tugged her forward. The stench of unwashed bodies made her stomach roil. A few tallow candles scattered about offered meager light and added to the foul smell.
    Nauseated, she scanned the crowd. To her horror, unkempt men filled the numerous, roughly crafted tables strewn about. Several of the men’s gazes were fixed upon her.
    Saint’s breath. Where had he taken her to, a den of thieves? From the appearance of the scruffy lot, they would most likely rape her, not help her escape.
    She tried to step back, but the