“Don’t.”
His mouth stopped just barely an inch from hers. His breath was hot and brushed her lips. He didn’t move again. But he didn’t blink either. The longer he looked at her, the harder it was for her to breathe, to keep her own eyes equally hard. For a brief moment she felt a flash of sympathy for rabbits and foxes and whatever other game was destined to be hunted and trapped.
“You don’t want this.” His statement was really a question.
It took her a moment to find her voice, at least to find a voice she was certain wouldn’t give away her fear. When she spoke her tone was clear. “No.”
She waited for him. He would do it. She was certain he would kiss her anyway. This was a man who took whatever he wanted.
The next thing she knew he had swept her up into his arms. He carried her to the unmade bed. A terrible panic seized her. The room swam for a dizzying moment; it was such a foreign and helpless feeling that she couldn’t stop the small sound of fear that escaped her lips.
He dropped her on the bed so hard she bounced. Stunned, she looked up at him.
He stood there looming over her with a stance and look like that of Lucifer. She was acutely aware that he was powerful enough to do whatever he wanted to her. He knew it, too; she could read that awareness in his eyes.
“Go to sleep, George.” He jerked a blanket over her.
She watched him, waiting for his next move. She didn’t believe he would leave her alone. But she remembered she wasn’t alone. Amy.
She sat up. “What about Amy?”
He looked back at her. “Calum rescued her.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s with him. Just like you’re with me.”
At the foot of the bed he grabbed his boots and shoved his feet into them, then crossed the room and unlocked the door. He turned in the doorway, one hand firmly gripping the edge of the door. “Don’t try anything else foolish. There’s no way out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I like men to behave like men.
I like them strong and childish.
—Francoise Sagan
There was a way out.
Georgina tugged hard on the last tight knot in her makeshift rope. She had used his shirts. She stood and walked across the room to a window.
After eyeing the rocky ground below, she looked back at the length of the rope. She really couldn’t tell if it was long enough. She needed to test it so she went to the window and pulled up hard on the sash.
The window was heavy and swollen from the moist air. She raised it and it squeaked loudly. She stopped. She had to make certain no one heard her.
Once it was open she leaned outside and fed down the line of shirts. The end stopped just short of the ground.
She gave a wicked laugh. “Go to sleep?” She laughed again. “Not me, MacOaf.”
She was still muttering happily when she sat down by the headboard of the huge bed and tied the remaining end around one of the heavily carved feet. She used at least seven good and tight double knots. She stood, dusted off her hands, and ran back to the window where she judged the length again.
Perhaps one more shirt. She drew up the link of shirts and coiled it on the floor.
A moment later she stood inside the closet, examining the clothes. She’d used every last one of his shirts, so she thumbed through the remaining things and took a pair of buckskin leather riding breeches. They worked wonderfully.
Daylight was coming and the mist outside was growing lighter. But she was ready. She picked up a heavy coat she was stealing and wrapped some spare clothes inside, tying the arms of the jacket together with a firm knot.
For just the briefest span of seconds she thought of the little girl, Kirsty. Georgina was certain the skirt and shirtwaist she was wearing and the dress for Amy she’d rolled inside the heavy jacket were her mother’s clothes.
