To Tame a Wolf Read online

  Rose felt an instant chill at the touch of his cold fingers. Revulsion coiled in her belly, startling her. She barely restrained herself from shaking his hand from her and running back to the safety of her room. It distracted her enough that she didn't protest as he drew her from her parents and to a dainty bay colored mare.

  "Where is my horse?” she asked, staring at the strange mount.

  "That war horse is not a suitable mount for a lady. I have sold him and bought you this mare. You will ride her.” He barely glanced at her, lifting her easily in his big hands and settling her onto the side saddle.

  "You...you sold my horse? He is mine, a gift from my father. How dare you sell him?"

  "He was unsuitable and an embarrassment, Adaira.” His eyes gleamed, a sly smile upon his lips as if he enjoyed this battle of wills and intended to win. “You shall ride this mare. ‘Tis my last word upon the matter."

  He walked away before she could regain her wits suitably to decide whether to slide from the mare or hurl something at his head. She turned in the saddle, staring in astonishment to where her mother and father stood. Her father's lips pressed tight, as if he were holding tight in anger. Was he upset with her?

  Worse, was this what her life was to be like? No freedom in even the details of her days?

  The tame mare moved without her even lifting the reins, following the horses ahead of her. Rose desperately wanted to turn her around, to ride away in the opposite direction. She wanted to hide in the woods until they tired of looking for her. Let Geoffrey find himself a new bride, one willing to do all that he asked. “Asked?” she muttered. The man didn't know the word ask. He did nothing but demand and expect.

  "My lady?"

  She glanced up. The man asking was slender and fancily dressed in lace and silk. She shook her head silently, wishing he wore a knight's fighting leather and steel and would consent to rescue her from this betrothal. He continued to look at her, the question still in his eyes. “What?” she asked in return, her emotions in turmoil.

  "Did you need something?"

  "No.” But behind the facade, her mind screamed Yes!

  She looked back one last time. Her mother waved as they entered the woods and then her home was beyond sight, lost among the towering trees under which they rode.

  * * * *

  Geoffrey kept a measured pace, stopping every couple hours to allow a short rest. But despite the frequent opportunities, not once did he inquire as to her welfare. He left her in the care of the lacy man; Wilmot was the man's name. He spoke with a pained lisp, raising his kerchief to his lips almost fanatically, blotting at any bead of sweat that might arise.

  At first, she'd tried to question him about Geoffrey, hoping to calm her doubt that she'd find happiness in the match. But Wilmot was loath to speak of his lord, instead complaining incessantly of the rigors of the trip, of the ill temper of the beast he rode, of his long suffering back and the pains that would be his constant companion for weeks to come.

  He whined and whimpered until Rose had to choke back anger with his complaints, finally tuning out his words and trying to interest herself in the scenery.

  They passed through the wide woods that surrounded her home through the tiny village at the edge of the woods. Geoffrey picked up their pace after it fell behind, claiming there were thieves afoot that would rob the unwary.

  They rode through fields of waving greenery and then more woods. At the far edge of these, a halt was called. A small quilted pad was laid out for Rose's use, and she gratefully sank to the ground. Her legs ached from sitting side saddle, something that she was unaccustomed to doing for long periods of time. Had she been on Hermes, she would have been fine.

  Instead, she was exhausted. The long trip, the sleepless night and her fears were taking their toll upon her and all she wished was to curl up into a ball and lose herself in the sweet nothingness of sleep.

  The noon meal of bread, cheese and meat was more than disappointing. She refused the slimy slab of flesh and took a dainty bite of the cheese. It proved to be pungent and too sharp for her taste. Also, the bread was stale, and the water brackish.

  She forced herself to finish the bread, offering one of the dogs traveling with them the cheese. It took it from her, backing away quickly and snarling at another dog that threatened its treat. “I know the feeling,” she said softly to the animal.

  "My lady Rose?"

  The voice behind her was one that had haunted her the night before. A flare of heat rushed through her.

  "Might this be more to your liking?” he asked quietly, holding out a small meat pie that smelled heavenly.

  "Thank you, Wulf,” she said, smiling at him and taking the treat. “This is not your dinner, is it?"

  "No, I've had mine, my lady. You didn't seem to find anything palatable in the feast that Lord Geoffrey sent you, so I thought you might enjoy this.” He squatted next to her, the tree she leaned against hiding him from the rest of the camp.

  She took a bite, savoring the flavorful beef and flaky crust that seemed to melt upon her tongue. “It is delicious."

  "How are you faring?” he asked, concern evident in his eyes as he took in the shadows and her pallor.

  "I am fine, Sir Wulf. I am made of hardy stock, do not be concerned.” But her heart warmed considerably at the caring in his voice and the gentleness of his eyes.

  "Adaira!” Geoffrey walked quickly up to her. “Come, we are leaving."

  She nodded, amazed when he neither offered his hand to help her up nor asked after her welfare. She turned back to thank Wulf one more time, but he had disappeared as quietly as he'd arrived. Rising on her own, she wrapped the rest of the small meat pie in her kerchief, pushing it inside the small bag upon her wrist. Her legs hurt and every step caused pain, but she kept it to herself, managing to make it to her small mare.

  Wilmot helped her mount the horse with a very ungentlemanly-like grunt at her slender weight. Then they were once more on their way.

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  Chapter Three

  Before nightfall, they had passed through two small villages and one slightly larger one. Rose stared longingly at the small inns in each, thinking of the fare they would set before her and of how welcome a bed would feel. Yet Geoffrey showed no sign of stopping at any of them. She might have asked his plans, if she had a chance to speak to him.

  But Geoffrey ignored her completely, speaking only with his men or riding ahead to scout the way, cutting a fine if cold figure upon his huge warhorse, his sword at his side.

  By the time dusk had fallen, Rose was tired enough to sleep upon her horse. If not for the damnable sidesaddle, which sent pain riding through her thighs with every step, she might have. The smooth gait of the gentle beast would not have kept her awake otherwise.

  Finally, Geoffrey rose in his saddle and waved a stop, pointing out a small clearing with a stream gurgling at its side. He announced his intention to make camp.

  Fires were lit, the horses unsaddled, watered and then tethered where they might graze. A light bedding was laid out for Rose and a small fire started, as far from the men as the limited space would allow, but no tent erected. She stared down at the miserly blankets and then at the rich, thick robes that would cover Geoffrey and wanted to scream. But pain and exhaustion silenced her. She lay on the bedroll, ignoring the small bumps and lumps of the ground under the too thin mat. She wrapped her blanket around her, turning her back on the majority of the men, and stared into her little fire. A sudden snort made her jump. Wilmot had laid his blankets near the same fire, most likely at his Lord's urgings. He had fallen asleep almost immediately, and in her fatigue she had quite forgotten his presence. Loud snoring began to come from his open mouth.

  Tears crept into her eyes. She could not remember a time when she'd been more miserable. She heard the men settling down, the guards shifting as they kept watch over the slumbering camp and drifted towards slumber. But achieving it was a struggle, for the loud sounds of the
sleeping Wilmot woke her every time her eyes began to close.

  Suddenly, she felt a hand upon her shoulder. Wulf crouched above her, silhouetted against the night sky, his golden hair shining in the light of the fire. He touched a finger to his lips as she opened her mouth and held out his hand.

  For a moment, she simply stared at it. Then Wilmot began to snore once more, thrashing about across from her. Escape tempted her and she reached for his hand, wrapping the thin blanket around her shoulders.

  "I wish to show you something I found,” he whispered, twirling his cape from his shoulders to add to the warmth of the miserly blanket.

  "This late? Would it not be easier to see in the light of morning?"

  "Lord Geoffrey will be up with the first light of dawn, my lady, demanding to be on the road once more. If you do not wish to go, still keep my cloak. It will stave off the cold and allow you to sleep.” He stepped back, his fingers beginning to release hers.

  She tightened her grip on his hand, taking a first cautious step and wincing as the stiff muscles in her legs gave a shriek of protest. His grin changed to a frown as he stared at the pained look on her face. Then he nodded in understanding. With an easy movement, he turned, lifted her in his arms and carried her quietly past the single, snoring guard. For a man who had spoken so vehemently of highwaymen on her father's land, Geoffrey posted a light watch.

  Rose felt her heart leap at his gallant gesture and at the ease with which he lifted her, holding her high against the muscled planes of his chest. Her arms crept around his neck and she rested her head against his chest, relishing the warmth and the comfort he gave. Closing her eyes, she reveled in this forbidden closeness.

  No heavy perfume covered his flesh to disguise the scent of his skin. He smelled clean, with a hint of horse and leather, the slight tang of his sweat a pleasure after the cloying scent of Wilmot. That man prescribed to the ideal that too many baths would bring the devil's attention. He covered his odor with strong perfumes that mixed with his pungent aroma and made an eye watering combination.

  So relaxed was she that she dozed, never noticing the direction Wulf took. She woke, unsure how much time had passed, when his voice called her name.

  "Lady Rose,” he said once more, in a voice that indicated he was loath to wake the sleeping beauty upon his arm. Her eyes flickered, then opened and she stretched once before looking up at him. He chuckled as her cheeks pinkened. She sat up quickly, finding herself on his lap.

  "How did I get here?” she asked, pushing her hair from her face.

  "I carried you, do you not remember?"

  "Oh, Sir Wulf, I fell asleep upon you. I must beg your forgiveness for my rude behavior.” Her voice filled with horror at the inappropriateness of it.

  "No, my lady, I considered it my honor to be your pillow.” He chuckled as she lowered her head. “But come, you must see that which I brought you here for.” He rose, standing her upon her feet and holding her for a moment as she steadied. Then he turned her away from him, his hand coming over her shoulder to point in the direction he wished her to look.

  "Hermes!” she squealed, seeing her stallion tethered to a tree. “You bought him?"

  "I bought him for you, my lady. I knew no other horse would do for you, nor would another master do for him."

  Tears welled in the blue of her eyes. “You bought him for me? Sir Wulf, I...I do not know how to thank you."

  "You just did,” he said softly. His eyes gazed down into hers, his hand rising to brush one glittering tear from her soft cheek.

  She lost herself in the heat of his green eyes, in the gentleness of his touch, the caring of his voice. So different from the coldness of her intended, with his demands and harsh looks. She found herself swaying towards him, wanting desperately for him to hold her once more, to kiss her again. Her hand reached out, touching his chest, her palm flattening against the flesh covering his heart, seeking the rapid beat of that organ against her skin.

  Wulf's body drew back, as a gentleman's should. But his eyes remained on hers for a moment, then glanced at the hand on his chest. He reached for her. “I shouldn't,” he said, even as his head lowered toward her lips.

  "It is wrong,” she breathed, rising on the tips of her toes to press herself more firmly against him. “I am to marry."

  "You should marry me,” he groaned as his mouth met hers, tasting once more her sweetness and the heat of her passion. Her tongue tangled against his, her lips eagerly parting for more. The softness of her form molded to his. His hands eagerly sought more of her, his palms roaming the slender width of her back, sliding over her hips, lifting her against him.

  His hand found her hair, tangling in the thickness at her nape, pulling her head back. Tearing his mouth from hers, he dropped it to her throat, tasting her skin. She felt his teeth for a moment, then he pulled back.

  "I have branded you as mine, my lady,” he groaned, planting a soft kiss upon that mark he had just made. “Go with me now. We shall ride away on Hermes, away from the cold lord who would keep you as a trophy bride.” He stood tall, holding her at arm's length, staring down into her eyes. “Please, Rose, go with me now."

  "I...I can't,” she said, tears falling from her luminous blue eyes. “The disgrace to my family would be too much, Wulf. I could not hurt my father that way.” She gasped as she saw his eyes harden.

  "I'm sorry,” he said, bringing her close once more, his mouth coming down hard upon her own. But it was a colder kiss, showing little of the heat that he'd given to her earlier. Instead, he seemed as if he waited for something.

  "What is this?"

  Wulf's head shot up, his arms holding her close despite her trying to push him away. She desperately wanted to see who the man speaking was.

  "What do you want here?” Wulf growled, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “Leave us in peace and I shan't have to remove your head from your neck."

  "Ho, he is brave, is he not, laddies? Let us see the face of your lady, my brave gent and then perhaps we shall be inclined to let you be.” The speaker was a huge fellow, rising head and shoulders above Wulf's own stately form. With him, she glimpsed the shape of six others, all well armed, all big and brutish.

  Wulf growled his answer, thrusting Rose behind him, drawing his sword and swinging it slowly in front of him. “She is none of your concern. Leave now."

  "No, please, Wulf. If they will leave us be, I will s...show them my face.” Rose grabbed his arm, trying to pull him back, but his muscles defied her own strength. “Please,” she begged. “I...I have no wish to see you hurt."

  Ducking under his arm, she walked hesitantly up to the huge leader. “Y...you have s...seen me. N...Now leave."

  The leader smiled, turning to glance at one of his mates. He nodded his head slowly, staring at Rose's appealing visage.

  "Yes, ‘tis her. That is the lady Rose."

  "Then I am sorry I am to have to go back on my word, Lady, but I've come here for you.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her up and over his shoulder.

  A guttural curse and the sound of a blade pulled from its sheath and cutting the night air came from Wulf's direction.

  "Do not touch her,” Wulf growled, his eyes seeming to almost glow with his anger. So attuned to what was happening with Rose, he never saw the man who snuck up behind him. The hilt of a sword banged down hard upon the blonde man's head.

  He fell as Rose screamed. The sound cut off suddenly as her mouth was covered by a cloth that was rapidly forced inside. Before she could spit it out, another cloth was tied over it, gagging her while her arms and legs were tied with rope. She was laid on the ground gently, next to the unconscious Wulf, similarly tied and gagged.

  Horses were led into the small clearing. Wulf was tossed over the back of Hermes, who shied at the strange contact. Another rope bound the unconscious man's hands to his ankles to keep him steady. The leader of the men picked up Rose once more, gently laying her across his shoulder, one huge arm holding her in place.

 
"Now, my beauty, you can ride like the lady you are—if you promise to be courteous and not try any foolery. Or I can tie you to yon beast and let you ride like so much baggage. ‘Tis your choice."

  With the gag in her mouth, all she could do was nod, letting him know she would behave as befitted a lady of her stature. She hated the thought of his body next to hers, his arm around her. But it was preferable to the alternative. Too, she worried about Wulf. The blow that had taken him had been a hard one, and blood dripped from the wound to his head. It would leave a trail, one that Geoffrey could follow come morn when he discovered her absence from the camp.

  She could only pray he didn't find himself well bereft of her, considering his treatment of the day before. If only she had stayed in camp and not been tempted to go with Wulf when he'd come for her.

  The big man took up his reins, stepping into his saddle with a comfort that spoke of long familiarity. Settling her in front of him, he pulled Wulf's cloak further around her, fastening the small toggles that held it closed and pulling up the hood. It hid her bound hands and gave only a hint of the curve of her cheek if someone were to look. At a glance, no one would notice the crude gag that cut into her face.

  "We've followed you now nigh on four hours,” the leader said, whispering above the sound of hooves as they started on their way. “I'd have taken you to one of the inns in the towns. We wouldn't have dared to accost you there. Too many witnesses.” He chuckled, his chest moving and bouncing her around.

  The men jested as they rode, making the trip a light-hearted one, full of ribald laughter and comments which turned Rose's ears red. But the man who held her was ever the gentleman, his hand holding her to the saddle, never straying beyond where it should. He ignored the lecherous jests, though an occasional snort of laughter burst from his mouth. “Come, come boyos. There is no call for talk of the like. The lady is here for ransom, not for sport."