He turned to look down the path and flinched. Worried about the wound she’d given him earlier, Marianne touched his arm. “Have you suffered further injury?”
Bryce couldn’t help himself. He laughed in disbelief. The woman had disobeyed a direct order. Yet she stood there inquiring about his welfare? She should be concerned with her own. Had the ordeal of killing a man left her in a state of shock?
“You were told to go join my men.”
“I know, but you were outnumbered.”
“Those men were inexperienced knaves. I was in little danger of losing life or limb.”
“How could you be certain of that? I only thought to help.”
Oh, aye, it was comforting to know that this woman, barely more than a girl, thought he needed her help in a fight. In truth, it was nearly more galling than he could bear. “While your brothers may require your assistance, I do not.”
When she finished laughing, a sound that set him more on edge than he already was, she said, “My brothers do not require assistance from anyone.”
Her laughing statement drew bile to his throat. To think, he’d once felt a moment’s guilt for using her as a pawn in his revenge.
He’d earned his title and lands by his prowess on the battlefield. He’d not become one of Matilda’s trusted men by any means other than the use of his sword arm. As much as he wanted to throw that fact in this woman’s face, he bit his tongue, adding the taste of his own blood to the bile.
By divulging that information he would only give away his plans. That was something he was not yet ready to do.
He could not prolong this discussion. If he did, he would end up losing what little control of his temper remained. “Get on the horse.”
“You are angry.”
If nothing else, she excelled at stating the obvious. “I would be concerned for any man who would not be angry.”
“I fail to understand. Why?”
Bryce felt that last thread holding his rage intact snap. He turned to face her. “Why?” To keep his hands from doing something he’d only regret, he tightened his grip on his sword until he thought his knuckles would break. “I do not require any more assistance from you than any of your brothers would. I have not lived this long by not knowing how to defend myself.”
“But—”
“Cease.” He lifted his free hand. Her shocked expression led him to realize that his fingers were curled into a fist. After unclenching his fingers, he said, “No. Do not say a word. I am a man, I know and understand my duties. And I perform them quite well. You, on the other hand, are a woman and it is obvious you do not know your duties. So, let me explain exactly what I wish you to do.”
She crossed her arms against her chest. “Oh, please, do.”
He ignored the sarcasm in her tone. “You will do as you are ordered, without question. When danger strikes you will take yourself to safety and stay there until I tell you otherwise.”
“You will, of course, let me know when to eat, drink, sleep and relieve myself?”
It wasn’t her question that added to his anger, it was her sickly oversweet tone and the brightly false smile she pasted on her face.
Bryce reached over and grabbed the reins of the horse. Before he was able to stop himself, he picked Marianne up and nearly threw her onto the saddle.
“We will be at my camp soon. Once there, you will keep your mouth shut.”
“If I choose not to?”
What was she looking for him to do? Did her brothers truly permit her this much free will? Did they never seek to restrain her mouth or manners?
It was no wonder that Marianne of Faucon was still unwed. What man in his right mind would wish for a wife so contrary and stubborn?
If anyone was foolish enough to marry her and later discovered her willfulness, what could he do? He would likely be risking his own life if he so much as raised a hand to her. If she did not kill the man in his sleep, her brothers would take care of the deed for her. And Bryce doubted if they would make it a quick or relatively painless death.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, silently praying for the strength to deal with this woman.
As if through a thick fog he again heard her laughter. For some odd reason it brushed soft and warm against his ear.
“You did not answer me, Ashforde. What will you do if I refuse to follow your high-handed orders?”
He opened his eyes and looked up at her. Marianne was leaning closer to him, smiling as if she had not a worry in the world. Perhaps it was time the woman learned that her brothers could not always protect her.
Before she could stop him, he pulled her off the horse and into his arms. Bryce fought to ignore the sudden heat rushing through his veins. He pretended he didn’t hear the loud, rapid tattoo of his heart in his ears.
With what he hoped was his most stern and commanding look, he glared down at her. The sparkle in her eyes and the half smile flitting at the corners of her parted lips was his first clue that he’d made a grave error in judgment.
Marianne reached up, ran her fingers through his hair and gently drew his head closer. “That took you long enough, my lord.” She brushed her lips against his, before pulling back to ask, “How much further do I need to go before you kiss me into submission?”
He closed his eyes and groaned. Dear Lord above, his enemy’s sister was out to seduce him.
And God help him, he rather enjoyed the thought.
Chapter Five
Marianne looked away from the shimmer of high emotions racing across his eyes. Had she made a grievous mistake with her boldness? The queasy churn of nervousness fought with the butterflies in her stomach.
Surely his ragged groan and stark expression spoke of his horror at her actions. But when she tried to pull free, he tightened his hold.
“Forgive my boldness, my lord. Let me go.” The bands of steel surrounding her only strengthened at her plea.
Ashforde dipped his head, brushing his lips across her cheek. “Let you go? I thought you wanted me to kiss you into submission?”
His raspy tone of voice bid her do what she must to gain her freedom. “Yes—I mean no.” At this moment she wanted to run. “Please, I rashly spoke out of turn. I did not mean to sound so wanton.”
A low, soft laugh was his response. Before she could say anything else, he cupped her face. Strong fingers held her still.
He did nothing more than stare down at her. A mind-robbing look that kept her rooted to the ground. His hand on her face seemed to burn her flesh. Far from hurting her, his touch made her want to lean into the warmth.
Some wild, uncontrollable part of her wondered what his lips would feel like against her own, but ingrained self-preservation warned this was not the time, nor the place to make that discovery. Long-suffered caution urged her to be rational. To think of her safety at this moment and not of her wants.
Before his soul-searching gaze could cast any more of a spell about her, Marianne pushed hard against his chest. “For the love of God, please, let me go.”
For a moment longer he held her, an odd half smile curving his lips. To her relief he relaxed his hold. “You need not fear me.”
“Fear you?” Without thought, she admitted, “I fear myself more.”
Ashforde stepped away and glanced at the dead men on the ground. “With good reason.”