They were both covered in mud from the wet ditch next to the path that collected the rain. Her cloak had loosened and she lay there, struggling against his hold as she called him a murderer over and over.
‘Arabella,’ he ground out through clenched teeth. ‘Stop. Now.’ He leaned more heavily on her softness, trying to make her cease her fight and her accusations.
He wanted to stop her words. Others were gathering, drawn by the sounds of their struggle and her screams, and he did not want them to hear. They might all think the same thing. They might not believe him guilty, but hearing the claim spewed aloud before all of those who threw their lives and futures in with his was not something he wanted right now. Not here.
‘Stop,’ he whispered. ‘I beg you. Just stop.’
His quiet plea broke through her hysteria and she stilled. He knew when she had gained control over herself, for her eyes finally centred on his face. Everything in her gave up in the same moment. Her body softened beneath him, all trace of resistance dissolved away so quickly he thought she’d fainted. Her breathing came heavily then, moving her breasts against him and reminding him of his promise not to harm her.
Brodie eased up, releasing her hands slowly, ready to capture them again if he needed to. His face stung and his stomach hurt. Pushing to his feet and wiping the blood and mud off his face, he reached out to help her up. Her empty gaze filled with confusion and shame as she lay there unmoving.
Rob had taken the beast away and his men cleared out of the area, so Brodie leaned down and scooped her into his arms. She did not fight him—indeed, she did nothing but slump against his chest. Only then did he realise she wore another man’s garments and not her own gown. And he felt the outline of shapely, feminine legs on his arm and knew that he would feel much more if he moved his hands.
Walking towards the small cave he claimed as his, he nodded to one of his guards to follow. Once he carried her inside and let her stand, he returned with orders for buckets of hot water and cold and for Margaret to attend her.
* * *
The night was full dark by the time she had cleaned the mud and muck from herself and he’d used the nearby stream. The frigid cold water had shocked him back to his senses. He thought it might dampen the growing desire he felt for her, but that came roaring back as soon as he entered his shelter and found her there, sitting on his pallet, wrapped in a blanket and staring at the far wall.
He approached quietly but without trying to be silent. An air of fragile emptiness filled her—something he’d never seen before. This was not the beautiful Lady Arabella, nor the falsely smiling one. And not the intelligent, resourceful, frustrating one, either. Something had broken inside of her. He searched his memory for the moment that she’d lost control and attacked him.
Bella.
He’d called her the name her brother had used for her.
Then Brodie searched his memory for the time when Malcolm had said it to him and remembered their conversationthatnight. But he could not remember much more after that.
When it had slipped out in that moment and had caused this strong woman to fall apart, he also knew he had yet another sin laid at his feet that he would answer for. He let out a sigh and sought the jug he kept in his trunk. Taking a mouthful and swallowing the burning liquid, he observed her.
The edge of a gown peeked out from beneath the blanket, but it was not the one she’d worn since he’d kidnapped her. He’d given no thought at all to her care and comfort while making his plans to bring her here. Her hair was loose now, hanging damp down her back. Margaret had helped with that, too.
Carrying the jug, he walked over and poured some in a cup for her. When she did not take it, he placed it on the floor before her. Brodie used the wall to slide down and sit across from her. He stretched out his legs and then drank from the jug once more.
‘Where did you get the garments? Do I need to see if one of my men lies unconscious somewhere in the dark?’ he asked, never expecting her to answer. She was deep in shock, an emotional one, brought on by many things, including his kidnapping and imprisonment of her. He should’ve expected it sooner, but that was a testament to the lass’s strength.
A spine of steel.
Familiar words, but again, no clear memory of when he’d heard them or said them.
‘Nay.’ The soft whisper shattered the silence and drew his gaze to her. ‘No one is hurt.’
‘Well, that is good,’ he said, nodding. He did not think she would harm someone, not truly. ‘And the garments?’
Without looking up or moving at all, she continued. ‘I have been helping Margaret repair clothing.’
‘Ah. So you fixed them and hid them away until you needed them for your plan, then?’ Smart lass.
She did not answer him, but she did lean forward and take the cup in hand. After sipping from it once, she placed it back on the floor and slid away to lean against the wall as he was.
‘Too strong for you, is it?’
She nodded and touched the back of her hand to her lips. He walked over and got the jug of water, adding some to the golden liquid in her cup. Then he returned to his place on the other side. They sat quietly for a few minutes and then he asked the question he’d not been able to ask anyone else.
‘Were you there when my uncle died?’
The look of betrayal in his uncle’s eyes as he spoke the words exiling Brodie would haunt him until he died. Worse, he could not deny the charges and clear his name.
‘Nay. We had returned home. We only heard the news afterwards.’
