Rage and Redemption (Rebel Angels) (5 page)

A stubborn ray of the dying sun caught in her hair, directing his attention to her slender body. She moved quickly, purposefully across the bailey.

Was she afraid he would pursue her? Or was she off to tell her “father” about their latest conversation?

The scent of her fear lingered in the room. But a darker, richer scent tantalized him even more.

Danger attracted her, called to a part of her she had yet to recognize. Seducing her would be a pleasure. A pleasure he intended to enjoy to the fullest.

She was the enemy. He must never lose sight of that fact. Humans had cost him too much already. He would surrender nothing more.

Centuries had passed and still the images remained vivid and painful. Gideon stood obediently by, a reluctant soldier in Michael’s army, as he watched his best friend Fall.

Lucifer, the morning star, the brightest and most powerful of all the angels, shrieked in agony as he plummeted to earth. The Angel of Light hideously transformed into the Father of Darkness.

With a muttered curse, Gideon moved to the other window and stared out into the gathering night.

Everything changed after the Fall. God revealed His new creation and poured out His unconditional love on the ungrateful race of humans. Angels became servants, messengers expected to protect and counsel the very creatures who had displaced them.

Lucifer had been damned for the sort of rebellion God allowed mankind to express freely.

And Gideon would never forget.

Raking his hair with both hands, Gideon lifted his face to the sky.

Naomi.

He whispered her name in his mind and pictured every detail of her lovely face. He would awaken her to passion, make her crave it, make her burn.

She would surrender to darkness. And her seduction would be all the sweeter because he knew how her “father” would mourn.

* * * * *

Naomi tried all night to convince herself she didn’t care what dark purpose drove Gideon. The conflict raging between the brothers had nothing to do with her.

But this morning she’d awakened restless and confused. Brother Gabriel never kept secrets from her. Why would he neglect to mention something so fundamental? She hadn’t seen him since she told him of Gideon’s arrival. Was he intentionally avoiding her? The entire situation made her uncomfortable.

One day in seven Naomi was free to do as she pleased. When she couldn’t locate Brother Gabriel, she decided to visit Zarrah in the Maronite village to the west of the Krak des Chevaliers. Zarrah was a young widow who lived with her father and small son. Her brother Jonah had often hinted that he would like to take Naomi to wife, but she had never given his offer much consideration.

Naomi found the brisk walk to Zarrah’s home calming, but a day spent fending off Jonah’s advances and watching Zarrah with Benjamin left Naomi achingly aware of all she would sacrifice were she to enter the Order of St. John. All too soon Naomi was saying her farewells and striding swiftly toward the Krak, anxious to return before the sudden desert nightfall.

You will marry. Your nature would never tolerate celibacy.

Gideon’s words echoed back to her and Naomi smiled.

Could you live without the touch of a lover forever?

The prospect hadn’t seemed nearly so desolate before Gideon took her in his arms.

You would be utterly wasted in an abbey.

A warm tingle ricocheted through her and Naomi hurried her pace. Perhaps she should think more seriously about Jonah’s offer. If Jonah took her in his arms, would her heart beat so hard she could barely breathe?

The soft thump of hoofbeats drew Naomi from her musings. She watched the horseman coming toward her in the distance. Riders seldom used this path, but Naomi simply stepped off, intending to let him pass.

He drew his horse to a halt directly in front of her and Naomi tried not to panic. He might only wish a word with her. His long leg swung over the saddle and he slid to the ground.

Fear crept over her, weakening her limbs and lodging in her throat. She looked around for a weapon—a stone, a stout stick—anything to ward him off.

The man approached, his stride lazy, leading his large bay stallion. The animal wasn’t adorned with the trappings of war, but Naomi recognized it as a destrier by the defined musculature and the sheer size of the beast.

She had a similar impression of the man. Though he was dressed simply in a plain tunic and chausses, Naomi could easily picture him in heavy chain mail and brightly colored surcoat. His hair was a sun-streaked brown and his dark gaze met hers boldly. She searched for kindness in his expression, desperately hoping for some indication that he didn’t mean her harm. All she saw was confidence and calculation.

“Good day, damsel,” he greeted.

Naomi nodded, praying he’d simply pass her by. Averting her gaze and stooping her shoulders, she tried to move around him. His hand shot out and Naomi gasped. Her heart pounded and moisture evaporated from her mouth.

“Good eventide, sir.” She struggled just to form the words with her dry tongue. His fingers encircled her arm with firm, unyielding pressure.

“I’ve just come from Krak des Chevaliers. Was it there I saw you?” A smile parted the dark beard obscuring the lower portion of his face.

“It’s possible, good sir. Please may I pass?” She kept her voice even, struggling to conceal the fear ravaging her composure.

“Are you in a hurry to return to your duties? Can you not abide a few moments with a lonely stranger?”

His grip on her arm became a caress. Even through the thin material of her long-sleeved chemise, she could feel the taunting brush of his fingers.

“If it’s companionship you seek, there are women in the villages who are available for your pleasure.”

He pulled her closer, his smile seductive. Naomi’s arms shot up between them, her hands pressed firmly against his chest. Surely he didn’t mean to take from her what others were willing to give! She was breathing too quickly. Her head spun and her vision blurred.

“Why would I continue on to a village when you are just to my liking?”

She yanked against his restraining hold. Blood pounded in her temples, drowning out everything but her fear. She couldn’t mistake the strength in his hold. If she couldn’t break the grasp of his fingers, what hope did she have of fighting him off? “Please, sir, I do not sell my favors.”

“Good.” He laughed. “For I don’t intend to pay.”

Sweeping her up in his arms, he deposited her facedown across the saddle. Naomi screamed and kicked and thrashed. He quickly mounted and dragged her across his lap.

His large hand smacked her backside hard. “Be still. You’ll do me no good with a broken neck.”

He kicked his steed into a gallop and Naomi had to struggle for each breath. His hard thighs jabbed her middle and each rhythmic lunge of the horse caused blood to pound into her head. She prayed for rescue—or death.

When he stopped the horse a few minutes later, Naomi threw her weight backward before he could dismount. She hit the ground hard and her ankle twisted. Strangling on a hysterical cry, she turned and tried to run.

“You foolish girl.” He sneered as he swung down from the horse. He easily caught her and shoved her to the ground. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

Tears trailed freely down her cheeks. “I do not share my favors,” she sobbed. He reached a hand toward her face and she shrank away. “Please just leave me here. I do not want this!”

He grabbed her suddenly and forced her onto her back. Crouching over her, he ground his mouth against hers in a harsh abomination of a kiss. Revulsion rolled through Naomi’s belly. His knees forced her legs apart and she went wild. She jerked her head to the side and screamed, desperate to escape his brutal hold. He slapped his hand down over her mouth and began to shove her skirts up.

Naomi put all her panic-empowered strength into the fight, thrashing and kicking, arching and bucking. The man easily restrained her. His palm remained over her mouth, preventing her from crying out again. If he thought she’d given up, would he remove his hand? Was there any chance someone would hear her?

“That’s better,” he muttered as she forced herself to still.

The pressure of his hand across her face eased and Naomi bit his palm as hard as she could. He rocked back onto his haunches with an angry curse. Naomi screamed and renewed her struggles. He batted her hands away and grasped the front of her tunic. With one vicious yank, he ripped it to the waist. Her chemise still covered her breasts but his hot gaze settled on the shadowed promise of her nipples.

Naomi was paralyzed by the carnal hunger in his dark stare. He had only to move his clothing aside to complete the act. Dread cramped her abdomen and bile rose into her throat. A ragged sob tore from her as he shifted her wrists into one fist and covered her breast with his hand.

“Please don’t do this,” she whimpered.

He didn’t seem to hear her or he simply didn’t care. He untied the cord at the top of her chemise and pulled the entire length free of the fabric. Without the lacing, the material gaped, revealing her breasts.

Naomi sobbed and pleaded but he was unmoved by her desperation. His hand returned to her breast, his calloused palm hot against her bare skin.

His head suddenly jerked backward and his dark eyes widened. Naomi didn’t understand his expression until the long blade of a sword came to rest against her attacker’s throat.

“Up slowly,” Gideon’s deep voice commanded.

He dragged the man off her and issued another sharp command. The stranger vaulted onto his horse and galloped away.

For a moment she was too stunned to move. Then the protective stupor broke and emotions crashed upon her. She rolled to her side and crossed her arms over her breasts, sobbing uncontrollably. She could still see his lustful eyes and feel his hurtful hands.

Gideon knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. She cried out sharply and flinched away.

“Naomi.”

She clutched her tattered clothing to her breasts and curled into herself, each breath loud and ragged. He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers and said her name again. Slowly she turned her head and looked into his eyes. Compassion glowed along with the remnants of his anger. Relief pushed back her terror, but she still trembled with uncertainty.

“Gideon,” she whispered, struggling to sit.

He helped her, his hands light upon her upper arms. They sat facing each other, hip to hip, their legs angled in the opposite direction. “Are you all right?”

She drew her legs up in front of her and wrapped her arms around her knees, hiding her breasts. She couldn’t stop shaking.

“Did he hurt you, Naomi?”

Naomi longed to throw herself into his arms, to bury her fingers in his hair and melt into his warmth. Would she feel protected in his embrace? Would she feel safe? “He didn’t… I twisted my ankle but that’s all.”

As if he sensed her silent longing, Gideon pulled her into the cradle of his arms. Without thought or hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his back and buried her face against his chest. She clung to him, soaking in the comfort of simple human contact. She was safe. He would keep her safe.

After a long moment Naomi eased away from him and looked up into his face. His arms still held her tenderly, the way she imagined a lover might. “How is it you are here?”

His features were all harsh angles but his gaze glowed with warmth and something else. Possessiveness?