His Stolen Bride BN by Shayla Black Read Free Book Online Page A

escape.” He grasped her wrist.
    Determination stamping her pale features, Averyl yanked free of his hold and darted
     away, into a thick copse of trees. Damnation, the wench was quick, he thought, following.
    Spindly limbs tore at his face like a cat’s claws. He swore and swiped at a streak
     of blood on his cheek, then sprinted after Averyl again, led by the sounds of dried
     twigs snapping beneath her bare feet. Though such must hurt her in the morning chill,
     she made no sound as she pressed on.
    Flashes of the dark cloak she wore appeared, flapping in the cold air between the
     summer-green trees. He heard her panting, as if her lungs were near bursting for air.
     Putting one boot in front of the other, he gave chase, wondering when she would tire.
    In the next moments, he realized his rapid footsteps were gaining him ground. Inches
     in front of him, she fought for another sharp breath. Drake reached out to seize her.
    Wrapping his arm about her waist in an implacable grip, he yanked her to his chest.
     With his hands about her surprisingly small middle, she cried out in protest.
    Panting, he turned her to face him. “Have we not struggled enough for your liking?”
    She thrashed in his grip. “I will fight you until I die.”
    Drake brought her closer to still her. Her firm breasts met his chest. A scorch of
     sensation blazed through him. The rebuke on his tongue died.
    She smelled like a trickle of rain on summer grass and some small flower he’d plucked
     as a child from his mother’s garden.
    Lust pierced him with a hot thrust, enveloping his body.
    Beneath his hands, his stare, she stilled. As she tilted her head back to gaze at
     him with greenish pools of defiance, an urge to thrust his fingers through the damp
     waves of Averyl’s pale curls and kiss her witless assailed Drake.
    Frowning, he peered at her. How could he want her ? He was no celibate monk pining after any woman’s flesh. And as womanly charms went,
     hers were lovely, but she was his enemy’s bride, his pawn only. She was the means
     to his revenge, not a woman he could slake his lust upon—even if she would have him.
    “Damn you,” he hissed. “I’ve had little sleep in three days, and you try my patience.
     Stop this foolishness.”
    “I would be foolish if I did not seek my freedom.”
    Drake’s only reply was a growl. He hoisted his captive over his shoulder and carried
     her back to the inn with teeth clenched. Past the innkeeper’s shocked wife and up
     the dilapidated stairs they went, until he set her down on the bed with a disgusted
     grunt and tied her to its post. Shooting her stiff form a warning glare, he turned
     away to pack up their belongings and douse the fire.
    When he’d finished, he approached Averyl. She sat defiantly on a brown woolen blanket.
     Her small form was nearly swallowed whole by his gray cloak. One bare ivory calf peeked
     out to tempt him. Her feet bore myriad cuts and scrapes beneath a thin layer of mud.
     He shook his head. She wanted escape badly, to endure such self-inflicted wounds without
     complaint.
    He pushed aside a flash of admiration for the Campbell wench. Despite her brave heart,
     she was naught but a captive.
    Drake rubbed his gritty eyes, his body aching with fatigue. But he could not rest
     now, not after months of plotting this scheme. And despite the fact his captive clearly
     had her reasons to crave freedom, he must restrain her. The past must be avenged,
     his honor restored.
    Murdoch could not win.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Cursing the cold rain and chilly wind, Drake dragged his small boat onto the grassy
     shore, anchoring it upon nearby rocks. He leaned down to retrieve Lady Averyl’s sleeping
     form and held her against his chest, her satchel slung over his wrist. She trembled
     against him, drawing his attention to her unnaturally cold skin. Something like disquiet
     gripped his belly.
    With a frown, he raced up the hillside, across the soft, grassy plain, then down