And it seemed he had misjudged her. She had the courage of a man, but the recklessness of youth. He could let neither pass by unnoticed. There was too much challenge in her voice, in her entire stance. Girl, he thought, 'tis time you learned just how much you dare.
"My purpose," he said in a voice that was all the more chilling for its very softness, "remains my own, but I tell you this. I'll not let you or anyone else sway me from my goal."
He nodded again to several of his men, who grabbed her companion and pulled him aside.
He tossed his reins to his squire and dismounted, deliberately taking his time. He walked toward her, never taking his eyes from her. Her gaze faltered only once, but the next instant she confronted him just as boldly. She was nervous, he decided, but determined not to show it.
In truth, Kathryn was wholly unnerved. There was a bloodthirsty air to this entire group of knights—especially their leader. His pennon was altogether fitting—red silk emblazoned with a pair of combatant falcons. The knifelike edge in his voice must have made many a soul cringe in fear, and his features were just as frightening.
His eyes were pale and glittering. They burned with all the fires of hell as he approached. His hair was as black as her own, his skin as dark as a heathen's. Another might have thought him handsome, but Kathryn thought his sculpted features harsh and ruthless. His mouth was thin, almost cruel. His jaw was square and strong, his nose thin and straight and arrogant.
From his place next to Guy, Sir Hugh Bainbridge watched Guy's progress uneasily, unsure of his friend's next move. He has changed, Hugh thought. He was unpredictable—as now. He was as hard as steel, as unyielding as stone.
Guy stopped before her. His breadth totally eclipsed her view of his men-at-arms. Kathryn was stunned to see that his eyes were a pale translucent gray, in stark contrast to his swarthy skin. He towered over her, nearly two hands higher than she.
"Shall we settle the issue then?" His voice was soft, almost whimsical. To Kathryn, it was like steel tearing through silk. She shivered in spite of herself.
He placed his hands on his hips and walked round her. "You claim you are no servant," he
announced. "Mayhap that is true. But you have moss in your hair, lady." He plucked several fat tendrils from her hair and displayed them with a flourish.
Aware of her hair streaming wildly over her shoulders and down her back, Kathryn shot a fulminating look at Roderick. He looked ready to explode, the guard on each side of him the only thing holding him back. For an instant it was gratifying to see him thus bound.
"Or perhaps—" The dark knight’s voice dropped to a silken whisper meant for her ears alone. "—you are no lady at all."
Both his tone and his expression were ripe with taunting mockery. How Kathryn stopped herself from striking him, she didn't know. She sensed he was goading her, toying with her like a cat plays with a mouse before tearing the mouse apart. Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower!
A sudden breeze molded her gown to her body, outlining her form in explicit detail. The dark knight' s eyes slid boldly over her. Too late Kathryn remembered her cloak upon the ground behind her. His gaze lingered for long uninterrupted moments on the firm upthrust of her breast. Kathryn flushed painfully, hating the betraying color which rushed to her cheeks.
His lips curved in a challenging smile. "Indeed," he said softly, "methinks it highly unlikely that you are even a maid."
Kathryn couldn't help it. She struck out blindly. Unthinkingly. If she had had a weapon, she would surely have slain him.
But his fingers closed around her wrist, like iron manacles, thwarting her. Those ice-fire eyes never strayed from her form.
"Ah, that was not wise," he murmured. "What if I should be tempted to retaliate?"
"You offend me most cruelly! And I am not afraid of you!"
No, Guy thought slowly, she was not. Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. He gazed down at her, and slowly—reluctantly—became aware of something else. Oh, the burning in his veins was still there, but it was not from anger at the girl's insolence.
It was desire, stark and strong and almost painful in its intensity.
"Damn you!" shouted a voice. "Let her go! She is no servant to be handled so roughly—she is Lady Kathryn of Ashbury!"
Kathryn stared helplessly into the hard-featured face above hers. His eyes were piercing and relentless as they stabbed into hers.
The pressure on her wrist tightened ever so slightly. His lips barely moved as he spoke. "Surely you are not Richard's wife? His daughter mayhap?"
“ "Nay! His wife died long ago. I am his niece!"
He released her so suddenly she almost stumbled. "Leave us," he said to his men. He stared at her harshly. Kathryn was only vaguely aware of his men dispersing. She didn't understand the silent accusation which smoldered in his eyes.
She regarded him warily, absently. Who was he, she wondered, this dark and fearsome knight? And why was he here? He was not on a mission of mercy, that much was clear. She had seen the way his troop of men was armored and mailed; nor had he come in friendship.
Comprehension dawned with shattering clarity.
"You are here for Richard," she whispered.
"And if I am?" His face was a mask of stone. She could read nothing of his thoughts.
Kathryn hesitated. With the way she hated her uncle, Richard's enemy should have been her staunchest ally. If only it were so simple! But alas, she knew of these male creatures and their will to quarrel. They dealt in lies, giving with one hand and snatching back with the other.
"You will do as you wish," she said quietly. 'There is naught I can do to stop you."
Her calm seemed to infuriate him. His eyes blazed with the sizzling heat of a lightning bolt. "Aye," he said grimly. "And I'd best make certain that you don't."
A muscled arm shot out. Kathryn wasn't prepared when he seized her about the waist and lifted her clear off the ground. She gasped and began to twist and flail, struggling to free herself from his grip. His mail felt like hundreds of knife-edged teeth sinking into her back but she paid no heed.
"You stinking knave!" she cried out. "Get your filthy hands off me! Have you no respect for the fairer sex?"
"Not when she's likely as not just as treacherous as her uncle. I've no doubt you'd like to stick a dagger in my belly but I'll not give you the chance."
They hurtled to the ground. Kathryn lay stunned, the breath knocked from her lungs. She couldn't even cry out when he thrust an iron-thewed leg over hers and dragged her hands above her head, anchoring them to the mossy ground with one of his own.
His other hand skimmed lightly—boldly—over her. Arms. Breasts. Belly and hips, brutally thorough in its quest. That accursed hand even trespassed beneath her skirts, sliding up the naked length between her thighs. To Kathryn's horrified mind, he touched her everywhere. It scarcely registered that he was searching for a hidden weapon. She fought wildly against his dispassionate encroachment but he only pinned her more tightly to the ground. At last she closed her eyes against the cool detachment of his features, shocked and shamed by his intimacy. But inside she raged against the very helplessness thrust upon her by virtue of her womanhood. The only indignity spared her was that his search wasn't performed in front of his men. It didn't occur to her until much later that he might have done so on purpose.
The task completed to his satisfaction, he bounded lightly to his feet. God, how she hated his false and knowing smile! A saving anger flowed through her, washing away her humiliation. Kathryn slapped away the hand he offered, muttering every vile curse she could think of as she rose unassisted.