“Who?” Abbot’s voice echoed around in his helmet. He effortlessly guided his horse forward at a sedate walk. The other soldiers, Lara counted five of them, were hanging back a little, either embarrassed to see a high-class lady in nothing but a blanket or their ranks required it of them.
She tried to say Reece, knowing the true name of the knight would tumble from her lips instead, “Sir Ferguson.”
“I’m sure he’s already dead.”
A chill settled in Lara’s chest and it had nothing to do with the cool temperatures. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He should not die for my sake.”
“You should feel no responsibility for his death. He is both a cad and a coward.”
Lara’s distress level grew incrementally by the second and she began to think she wasn’t the only one worried for his safety. This lady she shared a body with was highly distressed. And she didn’t like this tin can on a horse either. “We must go back for him.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Do you dare call yourself a chivalrous man and yet refuse a lady’s simple request? And what did Sir Ferguson do that was so terrible?”
There was a scrape of metal as the knight shifted his head to look down at her. “You really have experienced massive trauma to your wits, milady.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, but I do believe you have just insulted me.”
“I would never insult a lady,” he claimed. She wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or sarcastic. Perhaps he was insinuating that she was not a lady.
“Then go back for him. Now!”
“I refuse,” he said, and kicked his horse into a gallop.
Lara leaned around the metal-plated arm of the knight and gazed behind them, hoping to see Reece dashing after them on a mighty steed. No such luck. Only the five depressed looking soldiers followed them. But what of the ones who had stayed behind to finish Reece off? Shouldn’t they have caught up with the group by now? Perhaps Reece was okay.
“But he has a piece of my jewelry,” Lara said, trying to reason with her captor/rescuer again. Or lie to him. Whatever worked. “One of your men might take it for himself and I’d be greatly embittered by its loss.”
“We are not going back after Reginald Ferguson, Eleanor. I’m not sure why you’d want to, seeing as he left your poor sister at the altar and kidnapped you in her place.”
Why would a man kidnap his betrothed’s sister? Lara tried to put together a feasible explanation. She came up lacking.
“Why would he do that?” she asked.
Lord Abbot laughed. “Because no matter how much he wants you, he cannot have you, my darling. He is beneath you and you... you belong to me.”
A feeling of revulsion settled in the pit of her stomach and she could only conclude that Lady Eleanor had no romantic inclinations toward Lord Abbot. He made her want to hurl. “I most certainly do not belong to you,” she said emphatically, and again it was Eleanor’s strong feelings making themselves known. So it wasn’t only Lara’s concern for Reece, but also Eleanor’s concern for Reginald that had her so anxious. Eleanor’s desire to get away from Lord Abbot overwhelmed Lara with panic. “Set me down this instant,” she demanded. “I will walk.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Set me down. Now!” She moved to dismount from the moving horse, but Lord Abbot’s steel-encased arm stopped her progress.
“Woman, you are daft,” he said. “Do you wish to fall to your death?”
He drew the horse to a halt. Abbot dismounted, pulled her from the saddle, and set her on the ground. She tugged the blanket closer, her flesh crawling beneath Abbot’s heavy gaze.
“You are more trouble than you will ever be worth,” he said. “If it weren’t for your dowry, I’d have refused your father’s offer. Ferguson is foolish for spurning your mild-mannered sister. You might be more beautiful than she, but she would make a dutiful wife.”
“Then have her,” Lara said. “I won’t stop you.” She glanced around as inconspicuously as she could. How could she hope to get away from a knight and five armed soldiers? She had to think and use what she had. What did she have? A blanket. And…a blanket. She had nothing of use. And then a thought occurred to her. In one fluid motion, she stripped the blanket from her body and tossed it over Sir Abbot’s head. While he struggled to remove the blanket from his head, Lara grabbed the edge of the saddle, put her foot in a stirrup and boosted herself onto the back of Abbot’s enormous warhorse. She bounced up and down in the saddle, kicked the horse in flank, yanked on its reins, but the animal refused to budge. In fact, it merely blew an annoyed breath and shifted on its hooves.
“Move, you stupid horse!”
“My horse obeys only my commands. I tire of your little tantrums, Lady Eleanor.” His gaze raked over her naked body. “I will never tire of your beauty, though.”
She was no match for his strength as he pulled her from the horse.
“Men,” he called. “Ride ahead. We’ll catch up.”
A feeling of dread flood Lara’s entire body. “Wait!” she called to the retreating soldiers, but they galloped off into the distance, leaving her naked and alone with the man who was apparently to be Eleanor’s husband.
Abbot removed his helmet and she caught her first glimpse of his face. He was average in looks, his skin a bit pot marked. His only distinguishing feature was his eyes, which were nearly black and filled with malice. A shiver ran down her spine. He removed his remaining glove, his expression never changing as he glared at her. “You know better than to test me beyond my limits, Eleanor. You know I must punish you for it.”
When he began to remove his leg armor, panic suffused her. Not again!
She was running before she could formulate a plan, her only thought was to escape him. Before she got far, something careened into her back with the force of a battering ram and she fell forward, not even having time to catch herself before the ground came up to meet her face. Stunned, she was rolled onto her back, and staring into Lord Abbot’s livid face.
“Why do you run?” he asked. He removed his pants, exposing how truly aroused exerting his will over a helpless gentlewoman made him. He straddled her hips to prevent her from fleeing as he continued to remove pieces of armor from his chest and arms. “You know I will have my way in the end. I am bigger than you. And stronger. Scream and cry all you like. No one will hear you. No one will care.”
“Please,” she begged. She struggled, kicking at him and hitting him with her fists. He outweighed her by at least double. He caught her wrists in his hands and pinned them down on either side of her head.
“Don’t struggle, Eleanor. I can be gentle. If you stop fighting me, I will try not to hurt you.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head back and forth vigorously. “Never! You will never have me willingly.”
Her heart was pounding so hard the entire ground seemed to be shaking. Wait. The entire ground was shaking. An earthquake? Four hooves raced by, knocking Sir Abbot sideways from her body. He landed next to her with a thud, a huge gash on his temple. She didn’t know if he was dead or merely unconscious. She didn’t have time to check. The horse had drawn to a sudden halt and a pair of armor-covered feet hit the ground. Before she could react, she was drawn against the cold, hard chest of the armored man who had bashed Abbot in the head.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning away and stroking the hair from her face.