The Warrior's Runaway Wife

The man’s soft hiss gave her enough satisfaction to stop her own outrageous claims.

Edward stepped aside, shaking his head vigorously as he waved them towards the stairs. ‘No. No. Please, go. I will find another.’

Without wasting any time, the man moved his hand from her waist to wrap his fingers around her wrist before rushing her to the steps. Halfway down he muttered, ‘Woman, you need have care with your words.’

‘My words?’ She kept her voice just as low as he had. ‘You made me look and feel like a whore.’

He once again tightened his hold. ‘You did that to yourself.’

Avelyn tried to tug free. ‘I did no such thing.’

‘My mistake. I could have sworn I found you in bed, naked, waiting for a man to join you for the night.’

She couldn’t very well deny what he’d found upon entering her room. However, it wasn’t quite what he’d assumed. ‘Nothing was going to happen.’

Their discussion stopped as they reached the bottom of the stairs where two men waited, but she wasn’t about to let this end her explanation for long. Avelyn hung back, uncertain what these men wanted. But her rescuer walked past them, saying, ‘Let’s be on our way.’

She was relieved to discover they were his men since both looked as dark and dangerous as he. The two fell into step behind her and they all exited the establishment.

The cold rain pelting against her face did nothing to cool her ire. He’d called her a whore—accused her of things that would enrage her father should even a hint of such a rumour reach his ears.

Not willing to spend another heartbeat in this man’s hold, Avelyn jerked her arm free and marched quickly ahead.

Heavy footsteps stomping in the mud behind her warned that he wasn’t letting her out of his sight. She knew she’d be unable to escape, especially right now, while they were on foot. But she didn’t have to endure his company.

She glared at him over her shoulder. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘I will gladly do so once I deliver you to King David.’ He again captured her wrist with strong fingers, then pulled her about to face him.

The two men stopped alongside, only to be ordered, ‘Retrieve the horses and meet us near the well.’

The crestfallen looks on their faces might have been laughable at another time. But right now she didn’t care that their desire for listening had been thwarted. The things she wanted to say to this man did not need an audience that would make her the object of gossip.

Once they were on their way, she looked up at the man who’d quickly made himself an irritant in her life. ‘Release me.’

To her surprise, he did. She stepped back, putting a little space between them. ‘I am not a whore.’

His lazy, bored glance from the sky back down to her did not endear him to her in the slightest. In fact, his silent display of derision only made her want to fly into a rage. Instead, she fisted her hands at her side and repeated, ‘I am not a whore.’

‘I wouldn’t expect Lord Brandr’s daughter to be one. Although, finding you as I did would have made it easy for another to have come to that conclusion.’

The arrogant half-smile on his face was her undoing. Everything she had suffered these last weeks—the hunger and thirst, the fear, the cold dampness—all roiled to the fore serving to ignite her rage. Avelyn raised her arm to strike the smug expression from his face.

His arm shot out as fast as a loosened arrow and he grasped her forearm, warning, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ He pulled her against his chest. ‘I am not beholden to your father, nor to you. I will not meekly endure your abuse no matter how angry you become.’

Avelyn lowered her head, wishing she could simply disappear as quickly as her rage had at the deep tone of his voice. What was wrong with her to make her act like such a simpleton, such a fool?

At her lingering silence, he said, ‘Your anger is misplaced. I have done you no harm, nor have I wronged you.’

‘I know. I am sorry and apologise. It’s just that...’

She stopped speaking and closed her eyes, unable to find the words she sought and not wanting to say anything more to a man not known to her.

He released her and with a finger beneath her chin lifted her head. ‘What? It’s just that what?’

She opened her eyes and met his gaze. He didn’t appear angry or out of sorts. Just curious, as if what she’d been about to say mattered. ‘It’s just that I don’t wish to wed Sir Bolk.’

He laughed softly and lowered his hand. ‘I can understand that. I wouldn’t want to marry him either.’

How could she not laugh at his ridiculous comment? However, knowing he was taking her back to do just that—marry Sir Bolk—tempered her humour.

Avelyn sighed and stepped away from the comfort she’d found pressed against his chest. ‘Yes, well, while neither of us wishes to marry my great-grandfather’s warlord, I will soon be forced to do so.’ She shivered at the thought of sharing a life and a bed with the man.

‘Then you have two or three days to find a reason that will convince King David to intervene on your behalf.’

‘I am nothing more than a piece of property. Anything I say will fall on deaf ears.’

‘Ah, perhaps you have forgotten, property has value.’

That was true. Property did have value. But that value was determined by men who had little, if any, concern for her or for anything she might want for her future. A future she hadn’t thought about in what seemed ages.

Her wants were no different than any other woman’s. She wanted a husband, home and children. But she had little faith in the love that troubadours sang about—it seemed a rather fleeting and useless emotion. Something more solid seemed a better choice—caring, friendship, sharing, a partnership of sorts were all things she would prefer over some elusive feeling that served only to leave one suffering the relentless pain of loss.

Her mother had pined for her love every day until the last. Even on her death bed, she’d wanted nothing more than the touch of his lips against hers one more time. At fourteen years old Avelyn had come to the harsh realisation that this love her mother craved was never going to come to her bedside—at least not while she lived. After her mother had died, she’d vowed never to allow herself to be trapped so neatly by a man’s pretty words.

No matter how sweetly spoken, they were false and meaningless.

But that didn’t mean she did not want a husband. She simply wanted one who would honestly care for her and her alone. One who was nearer her own age, so they could grow old together. One strong enough to protect her if need be and lustful enough to give her children.

One not unlike the man before her.

Avelyn gasped softly. What devil had put that notion in her head?

She took another step backwards, wanting to put more than an arm’s length of distance between them.

‘Avelyn? Lady Avelyn?’

From the sharper tone of his voice and the quizzical way his brows were drawn closer together, he had asked her a question. One she’d missed while her unruly mind was off wandering places it shouldn’t go.

‘What?’

‘I asked why Sir Bolk had been chosen.’

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. It isn’t as if they included me in making their decision.’

‘You have a brain, otherwise you would not have got this far on your own. So, think about it. Why would they have chosen such an elderly man and why would he have agreed?’

‘Well, of course he agreed. What man in their right mind would naysay their King?’