Held For Ransom Read online

  Her face softened and she looked uncertain, a momentary searching of his face gave her a vulnerable look he wanted to kiss away.

  She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, "You cannot help but disturb my solace, Crow."

  ****

  She rushed inside, no longer able to stand so near Gorran without revealing her utter soul–a territory she was unwilling to explore herself, much less with him. She could hardly identify the emotions he evoked in her: much of it too painful. But why the pain? He had asked her forgiveness on bended knee. He had sought to make amends for what he had done. Why should she feel so pained to be near him? She gave herself a shake as she went through the serving line for her breakfast and sat down to eat it alone.

  She found Gorran waiting outside when she emerged, as expected. “Well, if you are to be my shadow, I might as well give you a full tour.”

  One side of his mouth curled up in a lopsided grin. “Thank you, I shall appreciate it.”

  She spent all morning walking with him, giving the history of certain buildings and explaining their methods for tending the sheep, harvesting, and dying the wool, their only trade. Their food came in the form of offerings from villages who received the priestess’s blessing for their crops.

  “This is the old observatory,” she said, leading him to a crumbling tower. She climbed the stone steps with Gorran right behind her. “I like to sit up here to commune with the Goddess.”

  The rock flooring shifted beneath her feet as the sound of wood splintered beneath it. Gorran looped his arm around her waist and yanked her back against his hard body, causing her to lose her breath. They waited, frozen, as several rocks tumbled down the new gap one hundred feet into the interior of the building. As the sounds stilled, she became aware of the feel of Gorran’s hard form against hers, the position of being held captive by his strength and dominance all too familiar.

  And comforting.

  That should not be so.

  “Unhand me, slave!” she snapped.

  He lifted her feet from the stone, spinning a half turn to place her behind him, facing the steps. “This building is not safe, highness. I request permission to tear it down before someone is killed.”

  “Permission not granted,” she said, still peevish. “And I could have you whipped for laying your hands on me,” she warned, turning to face him with her hands on her hips.

  As soon as the words left her mouth she thought he would remind her his foremost duty was her safety, but instead the corner of his mouth curled. “Do so, Princess,” he dared, his eyes heavy-lidded, as if to imply he should enjoy such a thing.

  “I would not do the whipping!” she clarified.

  The amusement faded to something more earnest. “No. I certainly deserve your lash, though.”

  She swallowed, the idea of ordering his punishment nauseating. “I told you I do not believe in vengeance,” she said, turning away and starting to pick her way down the stone steps. He followed close enough behind to grab her again if she stumbled, which she should appreciate, but did not.

  “I will block these stairs from use if you will not allow me to tear the building down. Else you will lose some young maiden down there. It is not safe,” he said when they reached the bottom.

  She said nothing, walking away from the tower, not willing to argue. She finished his tour, keeping her manner cool and reserved, then parted from him, giving him orders to get a sense for where he could be most useful and apply himself. It was hardly the command to give a slave, and yet, Gorran's capabilities exceeded most everyone's at Avalon, and she could not begin to guess how to direct him.

  Still, he followed her most of the day. At evening-fall, she stopped, whirling to face him. "Does it give you pleasure to torment me this way?" she demanded.

  He blanched, looking taken aback. "How do I torment?"

  "Do you think I enjoy feeling your presence everywhere I go? To have the constant reminder of the way you treated me? The way you held me captive?"

  He looked pained.

  "It is not my purpose to torment you," he said stiffly.

  "I know you have orders from the king you must follow, but find a way to do it so I do not have to suffer your presence!" She sounded far more cruel than she intended, but he seemed to bring it out in her–a sense of distress she could not sort out. She did not feel threatened. Nor was it true, exactly that the memory of the way he'd held her captive bothered her so much. Nay, it was something else.

  In the evening he entered her hut to light her fire. He did not knock, following the idea that as a servant, he should be invisible. Yet his presence came as thunder, setting her pulse to race. When he built the fire to a roaring blaze, he disconcerted her by disrobing, taking off his arms and sword belt, removing his tunic and undershirt. She had not forgotten of his magnificent chest, the dark crows adding to the fearsome physique. He came and knelt before her, handing her the sword belt.

  “No,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady.

  “Punish me, lady. You will feel better for it.”

  “I said no!” she snapped.

  “Come,” he pressed. “Remember how I treated you?”

  Her nose burnt, but she forbade herself to cry. His treatment of her had all compressed into one giant ball of feeling–some memories sweet, some bitter, all evoking emotions too large for her to want to unpack. She looked down at the knight. Even from his knees, it seemed he commanded her, his power so palpable, his intention so clear.

  “Mayhap you need a reminder?” he pushed. Before she understood his meaning, he upended her, pulling her across his knees and lifting her woolen skirt. His hand cracked down on her bare flesh, the sound startling her as much as the sensation.

  She struggled against him. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Making you angry,” he answered evenly, smacking her cheek again.

  “Let me up right now!” she demanded as he brought his hand down again.

  “Or…?” he goaded.

  “Stop it!”

  He began to spank in earnest now, a steady rain of slaps that made her jump and gasp. She could hardly believe the indignity, and yet, offending her was precisely his intent. The more he spanked, the less she could think, the burning of her bottom stoking the anger within her. As if he sensed his impending success, he added further insult by spanking her upper thighs, where each slap stung more than she thought she could handle. She began to kick like a toddler having a tantrum. “Very well!” she shrieked. “Let me up and I will give you what you want!”

  He released her, helping her to stand as if nothing had happened. “It is not what I want, it is what you need,” he said, handing her the belt.

  She struck his offered back with it. “It is not for you to tell me what I need!” she shouted, slapping the leather across his back again. He did not flinch at all, and remembering the way he had left his cut unattended after she stabbed him, she guessed he was the sort who hardly noticed pain. So if this truly was for her, did she need it? She brought the belt down across his back again and again, until she began to sob as if she were being whipped and she threw her arms around his neck, draping herself across his bare back.

  His hands flew to her arms and he pulled her around to cradle her in his lap, rocking her and stroking her back. “Peace, sweet princess. I beg your forgiveness.”

  She leaned into his solid strength, drank in the comfort he offered, though the bizarre encounter did nothing to diminish her conflicted feelings about the man. When her tears dried, she crawled out of his lap. “Good night, Crow,” she said, dismissing him. He gave her a solemn bow and picked up his clothing and left.

  Over the next few days, Gorran did as she asked. She did not see him, though she still sensed his presence nearby, felt his eyes upon her wherever she went. She could not decide if the outcome was better or worse. And she was fairly certain he continued to sleep outside her door, which irritated her, as the days only grew colder.

  She did see the
results of his deeds. Repairs showed up everywhere–roofs were re-thatched, holes patched. She saw he had built a barricade across the entrance of the old observatory tower.

  "Your slave is very useful," Lilian said, after the improvements continued for several weeks.

  "Aye," she said, trying to ignore the beady stare.

  "It is still not right to have a man here, but the Goddess tells me it will not last forever."

  She lifted her face, trying not to appear too interested.

  "How long will he stay?"

  She shrugged. "I cannot see. Less than a year."

  She could not decide if the feeling in her chest was relief or dread. It seemed more like dread. Oh Goddess–wait–if he escaped, his life would be forfeit: Broderick would hunt him down and kill him.

  "H-how does he leave?" she managed to ask.

  "Alive," she said, as if she read her thoughts.

  "For how long?"

  Lilian allowed her eyes to unfocus as she listened for an answer. She shook her head. "There are many paths his fate may take. Some end in quick death. Some end in despair. One ends in happiness." The old woman fixed her with a stare. "Which do you wish for him?"

  She took a bite of flatbread to give herself time to think. "I wish his happiness," she said when she had swallowed, and it was truth. She may despise his presence, but she did not wish him ill. Nay, if she could send him off to his happiness at that moment, she would do so.

  If only she knew how to regain her own peace at the same time.

  Chapter Six

  He hated that his presence disturbed Ariana, guilt making him work even harder to improve Avalon in every way he could. He kept his eye on her, having learned her habits, keeping to chores always within eyesight of where she worshipped or worked.

  He continued to sleep outside her cabin, preferring it greatly to spending time with the druids, who did not relish his company any more than Ariana did. He was well accustomed to sleeping outdoors from his years as a knight, so he found little discomfort in it, even as the nights grew longer. Ariana caught him before he woke one morning, stepping out whilst it was still dark.

  "You cannot continue to sleep here."

  He did not answer: merely standing and shaking out his woolen blankets.

  "I know you are pretending you must, but I assure you, it is not necessary."

  "Forgive me, my lady, I disagree."

  "The winter snows will come soon and you will freeze!"

  "I assure you, I will not freeze."

  She huffed with exasperation. "I command you to build an anteroom to my cottage, then."

  He tried to cover his surprise. "An anteroom? Are you certain?"

  "Yes, I am certain," she snapped, leaving before he argued further.

  The idea of sleeping in the same building as her held such appeal, he began to gather the wood immediately, skipping breakfast. The project came together quickly. He roughed out the skeleton frame of the addition–a small room, only five feet in depth and ten feet long with a simple raised pallet built in for him to sleep, and stow his few belongings underneath. He slept on it that night, lying on his back to watch the moon appear from the mists. It seemed a blessing, as the moon represented the Goddess and she appeared to be smiling at him. Indeed, he felt content for the first time since the day Ariana had gone free, as if her ordering him to build himself a room adjoining hers was some form of acceptance.

  In five days’ time, he completed the finished work, including re-thatching Ariana’s entire roof. He lit the fire in her grate the first night she returned from the House of Maidens where she had slept during the re-roofing. She stood in the doorway, watching him. He waited, keeping his eyes lowered, not speaking. In this way, they feigned his invisibility. She stepped aside to let him pass, but the quarters were too cramped. He stopped and turned his hips to the side, her blue woolen skirts brushing his legs as she passed. Without lifting his gaze, he traced the lines of her figure, her slender waist blooming into full curve at her hips. Unbidden, the image of her long legs jutting out from his tunic rose to his mind and a shot of lust went straight to his cock. As if she sensed it, she jerked her head up, her step faltering so their hands brushed, sending a tingling heat shooting up his arm. He had not meant to, but he found himself staring directly into her fathomless green eyes, the black centers growing as her cheeks turned pink.

  “Goodnight, highness,” he managed, his voice sounding gruff.

  “To you as well,” she said, backing away without breaking eye contact.

  “The mornings grow colder. Shall I─” he hesitated. “May I build you a fire in the morning before you rise?”

  “Oh!” she said, her cheeks showing more color. She looked at the fire, as if the answer lay there. “Yes, mayhap a small one. I do not tarry long in the mornings.”

  He nodded, tearing himself away, though the last thing he wanted to do was leave her presence. Shutting her door, he lay upon his pallet, his hand traveling to the bulge in his hose. He closed his eyes, thinking of those legs again, imagining them twined around his back, pulling him closer. In his vision, her hair came unbound, spilling out on the pallet beneath her. She gazed up at him with her emerald eyes, her cheeks flushed as he had just seen them. If the Goddess ever blessed him enough to be in such a position, he would pleasure her over and over again, until she could take no more. Only then would he lie beside her and take her into his arms, breathing the scent of her thick, wavy hair.

  He still remembered its smell. The fever he'd had the night he spent beside her made the memories even stronger, forever imprinting the sensation of her body against his.

  He reached his hand inside his hose, his manhood growing in his fist, but he could not go on. She would know it, he was certain. Cursing softly, he stood from the pallet and threw on his cloak to go outside, walking in the cold air until the urge to pleasure himself had passed.

  The next weeks brought only the same anguish–a charge in the air between them every time he tended her fire, followed by a restless night with a cock aching for release he would not allow.

  The winter solstice approached, and Avalon flew into preparations, the high priestesses, including Ariana, fasting and staying inside for a full day and night to receive messages from the Goddess.

  He did not sleep in her cottage that night, sensing a restless frustration and knowing his presence was an intrusion. When they emerged, he kept his distance, as she glared daggers in his direction every time he drew near and her restlessness had not ceased. He made himself scarce during the solstice rites, out of respect. When he returned the snow fell in large, heavy flakes, accumulating at a rapid speed. He built her fire, where she sat, staring into it with unfocused eyes, a deep crease worrying her brow.

  He never heard her stir from the fire, until the deep of the night, when he heard the creak of floorboards before she opened the door, passing through his anteroom and stepping out into the snow. He sat up, hesitating.

  Was this a continuation of her solstice ritual? He had not heard her speak, nor had her eyes held much focus since the celebration, as if her mind or sight were occupied elsewhere. Did he give her space to seek her Goddess? Or follow to be sure she was safe?

  He sat up and pulled on his boots and cloak. He was sworn to protect her, whether his presence annoyed or not. Outside, the snow enveloped Avalon, turning it into a silent cocoon. His breath rose in the air, the cold stinging his nose. He saw Ariana in the moonlight, walking without a cloak, her stride sure and swift. She walked toward the lake which had just crusted with its first thin layer of ice, snow masking the murky depths beneath.

  Surely she knew the path better than he and recognized the lake’s edge. And yet her feet did not slow as she approached the bank, her stride just as long as her first foot connected with the glass surface and broke through, plunging her into its frigid depths.

  ****

  Needle-like pain shot through her entire body. Breath came in the form of icy water, suffocating her. Terr
or turned her movements wild, yet her thrashing did not bring her to the surface. Goddess save me.

  Something gripped her arm with bruising force, yanking her up to break surface, ice shattering all around her. Someone hauled her out of the water by the waist and she found herself lifted into Crow’s arms, the sound of his feet pounding the earth and his breath panting seeping into her shocked awareness. In moments she stood before the fire in her cottage, shaking uncontrollably, water pouring from her clothing and hair.

  “Wh-what happened?”

  Two logs crashed into the fire and Crow tore her sopping dress off. “You walked into the lake.”

  She shook her head. She remembered nothing beyond sitting beside the fire after supper.

  Crow attempted to remove her dripping shift, but it clung to her, sticking like a second skin. He wrapped the fabric in his giant fists and rent it in two, ripping it until it fell to her feet with her dress. Snatching a blanket from her pallet, he wrapped it around her shoulders, shoving her so close to the fire she nearly stepped in it.

  She could not stop her violent shivering, her teeth chattering so hard her jaw ached.

  Crow pulled his dagger from his belt and cut the thread at the end of her braid, unwinding her hair with deft movements until it spread across the blanket at her shoulders. Grabbing a second blanket from the pallet, he wrapped her hair in it, squeezing the water out as he made brisk movements to dry it.

  “What happened?” she repeated.

  “Do you sleep-walk, highness?”

  “N-n-o,” she managed through her shuddering jaws.

  Crow threw off his cloak and removed his tunic and undershirt.

  “Wh-wh-what are you d-d-doing?”

  He stepped right up to her, opening the blanket and pressing his body against her nude form, grasping the edges of the blanket and pulling it taut, to tighten their skin to skin contact. “I am trying to warm you with my body heat.”

  Indeed, the heat from his torso and the fire pained her, biting at her flesh like a million tiny daggers. She shook against his strong, still form, drawing comfort from his heat, his steady presence. Moments of stillness began to seep through her shuddering, but every time she began to speak or move, the shakes started once more. She gave up and rested her cheek against his bare chest, his large, warm hand covering her other cheek and ear. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to it. After an eternity, the shivering stilled and the needle-stabs eased.