Defiant (33 page)

“You cannot make it to the door in time.”

She sank back down, but anger cut through her fear. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“You lied to me. You seduced me. You betrayed me. You manipulated me.” The blade swooshed against the leather strop, punctuating every sentence.

The sound grated on her nerves. “And for that you plan to kill me?”

“Nay.”

She stared from the knife in his hand to his face and back again.

Her hands twisted into her skirt, wrinkling the fabric.

A dark shadow crossed over his cheeks and he stalked over until he stood behind her. Alarm ran up her spine and she glanced again toward the door. Heat from his thighs, from his body, wafted off of him. Leaning forward, he set the knife on the dressing table in a slow, deliberate show.

She gazed down at the shiny blade, wondering if she should attempt to pick it up. Was this some test?

His hands grazed the tops of her shoulders. There was no pressure on them, yet the weight felt as though an entire mountain pressed down on her body. A shiver ran through her. He seemed to be doing everything possible to set her on edge. And it was working.

“Do you want to reach for it?” he said very calmly.

She weighed her words carefully. “You saved Kiera’s life today. I have no desire to harm you.”

“Good. ”

Her brow furrowed and she turned her face toward him, trying to fathom what he was doing.

His jaw was set, determined. “You have spent your life knowing how to charm men. I did not realize what you got from your relationship with Irma until I saw you at the jail.”

She grimaced.

“Irma taught you how to apply kohl to your eyes as you did tonight—to be attractive to men such as the jailor so they will allow you to bribe them with a blink of your eye.”

It occurred to her that he was jealous.

“I saw you toss your hair, use it as a warrior would use a weapon.”

“I did no—” The words died on her lips. It was true. She’d flipped it around for the jailor.

“But you did. ”

More than his words, his tone gave her pause. The solid strength, sense of resolve and determination frightened her. A flock of butterflies flittered in her belly.

She shivered as his hand touched her neck and wondered what she should do: run, stay, resist, submit?

He ran his fingers through her hair, his palms sliding up the scalp causing heat to form and pool through her body. “Your hair is beautiful, Gwyneth.”

“Th-thank you,” she said, but it did not sound like a compliment at all.

“The bards sing about it. ”

She felt his hand draw the mass upward and then fist in one side. A few strands pulled against her scalp.

“It’s silky, seductive, tantalizing. I have enjoyed brushing it and braiding it each night for you. I took a piece when I gave you the book. Did you ever know?”

“Nay.”

Long, tense moments passed. Apprehension tightened across her shoulders. His silence made her more nervous than any lecture had done. What sort of man stole a woman’s hair?

He released her so suddenly that her entire body jerked. He crossed the room in two strides and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Come and kneel in front of me. I intend for you never to be able to use your hair as a weapon again. Bring me the knife.”

She gasped. “You plan to cut my hair?”

“Aye.”

“This is a punishment?”

“Nay, this is what I must do to keep you safe. You cannot continue to put yourself in danger by leaving the keep in the middle of the night.”

Anger flashed inside her. “If you would have given me leave to go during the day, I would have been perfectly safe. I’ve been there many times!”

“Men stare at you, want you. You are a bloody menace to yourself and others.”

“I have been wearing plain kirtles and a headscarf.”

“You were not wearing such at the jail.”

“I do
not
want my hair cut.”

“Nevertheless, bring me the knife.”

The blade glinted on the dressing table. If he merely wished to cut her hair, he could easily have held her down and done so. But no. ‘Twas not her hair he wanted, but her submission.

“You manipulated me with your kiss, fooling me into allowing you to talk so that you could ask questions about Aeliana. You learned to soothe her for the purpose of escaping while I slept. You seduced me last night to win my trust. ”

She licked her lips. All those things were true.

“I needed to rescue Kiera.”

“—who is a thief—”

“—who is a little girl who would have been sold as a slave for a man’s pleasure.”

“Is that what happens to those women?”

She let out a breath and her shoulders slumped. “The pretty ones, the young ones are sold as slaves. Usually they are never heard of again, but every now and again one returns.” Gwyneth closed her eyes, not wanting to think of the atrocities she’d seen, of the bruised bodies and broken spirits.

“Go on.”

“The returned ones never lose the haunted look in their eyes. One girl, her name was Madeline, had cuts and scars striped up and down her limbs. On her belly were burn marks where they had held her down and branded her. Her nipples had been burned off—”

Jared’s brow furrowed. “How often do you go to the prison?”

“The ship leaves every couple of months. I go every week to rescue who I can. Save for my mother’s ring, which I gave away tonight, I have sold all of my jewelry. I worked each night to embroider sleeves and trim which Brother Giffard sold for me.”

“The monk?”

“He travels into London frequently.”

“I see.” Jared stroked his goatee. “How do you learn about the women who are to be sold?”

“Through Irma. She keeps track. We have wanted for a long time to make a shelter for them here, but neither my father nor Montgomery would allow me to control my own dower lands.”

“And that is why you kidnapped me?”

She nodded. What a disaster the marriage had been. “I was desperate. ‘Twas a mad idea, but we thought you would be satisfied with a small amount of gold.”

“I wasn’t.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I am truly sorry, Jared. I had not intended for it to be complicated for you.”

“I forbid you from manipulating men to do your bidding anymore with your beauty. ”

Sighing, she picked up the knife and toyed with it. “What other choice do women have? We cannot fight like a man.”

“I will go with you next time.”

Her gaze snapped to his. “You will?”

“Yes.”

Gwyneth looked at him, unable to speak. He would actually go with her?

“You speak truth?”

“I give my word on it. ”

Silence reined in the room. As if time had stopped. She toyed with the ends of her hair.

Of all things, she had not expected Jared to give over to her ideas about rescuing women. She searched his face. “Why?”

But in her heart, she already knew why. He took care of people—that is why he was here: to get gold for his family, only he’d been caught up in taking care of her people as well.

Dear God.

She loved him.

The thought hit her like a quarry had fallen atop her.

She loved him; her hair meant nothing to her. Oft it was more of a burden than a pleasure—especially when the minstrels sang of it or men acted like fools. If Irma would have let her, she would have cut the mass years ago.

Rising as gracefully as she could, she held the knife and walked to him. Silently, she handed him the blade and sank to her knees in front of him with her back turned the same as she did when he braided it. If he went with her, she had no use whatsoever for her long locks or any other ornamentation. She would be rid of the bards singing songs to her hair and of having to preen and flirt with men to get her way. And if this appeased him of his anger, ‘twas an easy sacrifice.

She grasped the mass in her hand and held it up, an offering, gladly given in exchange for his presence at the prison. “Cut it.”

His hands buried in her hair, tilting her head back so that it rested on his muscular thighs. She grimaced, expecting him to start hacking away.

Doubt crept into her mind. What if he did not go with her? Perhaps she had given in to Jared too easily. What would she look like bald?

She squeezed her eyes shut but did not attempt to move away.

He laid the knife down on the bed and divided her hair into sections. She felt it tug at her scalp and realized he had gathered it into a ponytail and was braiding it into a long plait just as he had done every evening.

She wondered at his reasoning and twisted to glance at him. He looked both pensive and determined, the edges of his mustache even more turned down than usual.

At once, she felt the edge of the knife against her neck and then a tug.

A quiet
whomp
sounded as he tossed the plait to the floor beside her. It looked like a thick, dead snake. She stared down at it, wondering at how such an item had made men so possessed that they sang songs about her.

Her neck felt oddly naked and vulnerable, and she reached her hand up to feel it. The ends of her newly cut hair, blunt and bristly, brushed against the back of her hand. It had been cut off at her nape.

He pushed her head back so that it rested atop his knees. She bit her lower lip, wondering what it was that he wished to do with her. Did he plan to cut more? To shave the rest as if she were a sheep?

Slowly he began massaging her temples, his fingers splaying across her temples and ears. He took hold of her earlobes between his thumb and forefinger and began to rub in the slowest of gestures.

Her eyelids fluttered closed. Warmth flushed over her skin. A line of heat ran from her forehead to her toes. Her toes curled.

For an instant, she wished she had strength to resist him. He had away of plowing through her defenses, leaving her feeling naked and vulnerable like no other man had ever done.

She reached upward, tugging at her shortened locks self-consciously.

She should get ready for bed, straighten out the drawers in her dressing table, or clean cobwebs from the chamber’s corners.

“Surrender.” At first she thought the whispered command was only in her mind, but she felt the bristle of his beard against her cheek, felt his breath slide silkily over her skin.

A whimper escaped her throat.

His hands trailed down her neck to her newly exposed nape. She should get up, fling his hands away, tell him he had taken her hair already, he would not steal her dignity as well.

But she wanted, longed for, craved his touch. Of its own accord, her head leaned into him, pushing herself farther into his arms rather than pushing him away. With a sigh, she surrendered. She was his and he was hers.

Heat stirred deep in her core, and the area betwixt her legs tingled. She pressed her thighs together, trying to ease the tension, trying to bring a measure of peace to the craving she experienced.

“I want you.” The words were spoken with husky heat, his green eyes smoldering.

“I—”

His lips claimed hers.

Amazement washed over Jared like a flood. She’d given him her hair! Just like that. It was the last thing on earth he had expected. He had braced himself for her to collapse into tears or throw some sort of fit, not gracefully kneel at his feet and trust him.

He ran his hands through her shortened locks. At the beginning, he had planned to shear it all off so that she could never seduce another man with it again. That she would actually have allowed him to do so touched a long-frozen spot in his heart.

All women, but especially beautiful ones, were vain to the point of nonsense, but here, this woman—the most glorious one he had ever seen—had not even hesitated once she was assured that the women she wished to rescue would be safe. Clearly her concern was for others, not for herself.

He traced his fingers down her cheeks, exploring the smoothness of her skin, the delicate structure of her features. The ends of her shoulder-length hair tickled his wrists. He bent forward, wanting to kiss did not hear you out about going her, wanting to gather her in his arms and make love to her.

Make love?

The thought seemed to come out of nowhere. Tup, he corrected himself, but the words “make love” slid again across his mind as his lips touched hers.

A mewl of pleasure escaped her throat. Heat swelled in his groin. Her mouth was yielding, as hungry for his as his was for hers. He wanted her. More than he’d ever wanted a woman.

“Get up.”

A look of confused rejection lit in her eyes, then she looked down at the floor planks and scooted away from him.

He reached for her, lifted her to her feet, turned her toward him, and encaged her in his arms. “I didn’t mean for you to go away. I wanted you to be closer to me.”

She tugged at her shortened locks and didn’t quite meet his gaze, unlike the way she had always done so boldly in the past. Her vulnerability called to him and at once he regretted that he’d cut away her shield of hair. She didn’t look any less attractive with it gone, but clearly she felt more exposed.

He splayed his hand across her cheek and ran his hand gently down her spine. “Though the bards compose ballads to it, ‘tis not your hair I find attractive, Gwyneth, but your spirit. I had thought you were shallow, silly, and selfish, but I see you for who you are now—a woman with a brain and a heart.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words came out.

Drawing her forward, he spread small kisses down her cheek and took delight when she relaxed against him. Her lavender scent intoxicated him.

“At first I thought you were a woman like others I have known—never to be trusted and after only their own gain, but tonight when I saw you walk into that jail … Gwyneth, you’re so brave.”

“Brave?” She wound her hands around his neck. “No one has ever called me brave.”

“I saw what you did—you weren’t there to seduce men, but to help those who could not help themselves.”

A tear slid down her cheek. He thumbed it away, his heart nearly bursting with emotion. He wanted her to be his forever.

“I wanted to set matters aright. Those women suffer and have no place to go and no one to speak for them. ”