“Wait,” he called, his hushed voice sounding loud in the night.
“For what? You to insult me again?” She snorted her opinion—and yet she did not leave.
Bran tried to straighten. The pain still radiated. “We have unfinished business between us. We should discuss it like civilized people.”
“Oh, no, we can’t. I’ve come a good way from the young woman who was gullible enough to be snatched from the street.”
That caught his attention. “Snatched from the street?”
Instead of answering, she again started for her encampment.
“Kate,” he called, trying to keep his voice quiet.“Kate.”If he wasn’t quick, he would lose her.
Determination drove him forward. His gait was lopsided. However, the pain was subsiding. He caught her as she stepped out of the line of trees, hooking his hand around her elbow. “Kate, talk to me.”
She attempted to yank away. “Why should I give you a moment more of my time?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Her dangerous knee lifted again, except he was ready for her. He blocked her movement with his thigh. “Talk to me, Kate.”
“Let me go.” Her voice sounded feral.
“I will, once you answer my questions.”
She shook her head as if to deny him. He tightened his hold. It was a good thing she had almost gelded him or he would not have been able to be this close to her andnothave reacted. She was naked beneath the nightdress. Granted, he’d seen canvas tents that were thinner than the gown she wore, but she was naked.
Immediately, he recalled those hours when he’d been naked in bed with her, of her toes wiggling as they touched and teased his. The intimacy of the image stirred life back into him.
“One question,” he pressed.
“Let me go.”
He released his hold.
She stumbled back, however, she surprised him when she did not race to the tents. Instead, she repositioned her shawl around her shoulders, drawing it closer to her, her arms crossed. She did not trust him and certainly did not like him. Her eyes were cold and silver in the night. “What is youronequestion?”
Bran felt as if he’d been given a moment of grace. He kept his distance from her, not wanting to do anything that might make her run again. “You said I sent you a letter and it led to you being ‘snatched from the street.’ That is what you just said. Do I have that right?”
“Is that your question?”
She was harsh. “No,” he hurried to answer, not trusting her patience. “I want to know about the letter.”
In truth, hehadwritten to her—love notes in poor attempts to woo her. He’d slaved over those few letters. Had even attempted poetry. But he had never sent any of them.
Now, older, more experienced, and far too jaded for anyone’s good, he was startled by what a lovesick fool he’d been.
“What did the letter say?” he asked, his voice quiet in the night. “And what made you think it was from me? Because, Kate,Inever wrote you.”
Her chin lifted as if she had expected that response. He held his hands out as if to assure her he meant no tricks. “When did I send a letter?”
“I received a letter from you right before my performance after we—”
Her voice broke. Her arms crossed tighter. She took a breath and amended her original thought. “After you... had me.”
The anger had returned to her voice. An accusation that he did not understand.
After he’d had her?As if he’d pirated his way with her and she’d not been the willing, mercurial bed partner who had haunted his dreams all these years?
Oh, he wanted answers about her choice of words, because as he remembered that night, they had been joyful bed partners. The moment they had finally allowed themselves to touch, a power beyond all reason had taken over. They had fallen into each other’s arms as if they had not been able to contain themselves—and she had been just as willing as he had.
