Jacq's Warlord (38 page)

without benefit of marriage.”

“Rufus is an honorable man. He will make you his wife. Give him time to consider—”

“I don’t dispute he’s honorable. There’s no better man. But even should he ask me to marry him, I would have to tell him no.”

Father Haskell’s eyes widened. “Why, milady? Do you not love him?”

“The point is
he
doesn’t love
me
.” She closed her eyes, suddenly tired and wanting this to end. “Please, Father,” she said, a quaver in her voice, “help me to go home. You promised you would.”

He sighed. “As a man of my word, I will help you. However, I must tell you as a friend, I think you are making a mistake. Would you not take a little more time to reconsider?”

“No,” she whispered. “I must leave now.”

He searched her face for any sign of wavering, but must have seen her determination, because he sighed again. “Then come, my dear, and help me with the book.”

The priest unlocked the small door in the far wall of the chapel and lifted the book from its niche. Jacq hurried forward to help him carry it to the table where they laid it down gently.

In the candlelight, Jacq recognized the intricate design etched into the leather. Her heart banged against her chest, pumping blood so fast, her head swam. This book was her ticket home. The twenty-first century, her father, her job at the university.

Everything she thought she’d wanted.

“I inherited this book from my great-aunt,” Jacq said, her voice a whisper. “And she hasn’t even been born yet.” She reached out to run a finger across the ornately tooled 210

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leather binding, stopping at the blood-red stone at its center. It felt warm to the touch.

She opened the book, flipping past the elaborate drawings on the first few pages until she came to the one on which the priest had inscribed his prayer.

“Here it is. This is the prayer I recited at the Renaissance Faire.” Turning to the next page she stared at the empty parchment. “Father, how will this book help me to go home?”

“Go home?” a voice boomed behind them, reverberating off the stone walls of the chapel. “You are not going anywhere!”

Jacq jumped, her heart skipping a beat.

Rufus strode through the chapel doorway, heading straight for her.

With her hand pressed to her throat, Jacq stumbled backward until her rump met the edge of the table behind her. She grasped the edge to steady herself.

His face a mottled red, his eyes blazing in the candlelight, Rufus leaned over her.

“What in hell are you doing, Jacq?” he asked, his voice a low, deadly roar.

Jacq squelched the urge to flee. Instead she lifted her chin, and with more courage than she felt, said, “I’m going home.”

His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. “Wench!” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “You are mine. You will stay. I command it.”

In a flash, anger replaced fear. It blazed hot, clearing the last of the malaise that had dampened her spirit. She shoved at his chest hard, pushing him away to give her room to breathe. “You don’t own me, mister, and the sooner you figure that out the better.”

She planted her hands on her hips and dared him to differ.

Jacq hadn’t thought it possible, but his face flushed a deeper red, and the tic began to pulse at the side of his eye. “You are mine. I refuse to let you go.”

“You don’t have a say in the matter!” she shouted back. “I go where I choose.”

“Not as long as I live and breathe,” he said from between clenched teeth.

Her eyes narrowed. “We could take care of that, right now.”

“Yes, I certainly shall.”

She got no more warning than that. Rufus clamped a hand on her wrist and dragged her down the aisle of the chapel.

She struggled to free her hand, glancing desperately behind her.

The priest stood beside the table, his mouth agape.

“Father, don’t just stand there. Help me!”

He smiled and shrugged. “All will be as it was meant to be.”

Jacq scowled at him over her shoulder, even as she dug in her heels, resisting the inexorable tug that propelled her forward, out the door and into the open bailey. She tried to pry his fingers from her wrist, but he tugged harder, and she almost lost her footing. “Let me go, you overgrown ape!” she screamed, kicking at his ankles.

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“Quit slinging insults I do not understand,” he threw over his shoulder. “I will not release you until you come to your senses—even if I have to lock you in your room for a month!”

“I have come to my senses—it’s you who’s acting like a madman!”

Their shouts drew the attention of the guards, and one broke away from his post, rushing up the steps to fling open the door of the keep. Soon Rathburn’s revel makers spilled down the steps, racing out to stare.

Jacq reached out to them for help, but they held their hands away and laughed.

“Traitors!” she screeched. Their laughter fueled her temper. Another sharp tug and she landed on her knees, but Rufus didn’t look back, he walked faster, dragging Jacq behind him as she struggled to get to her feet. “Just a minute there, buster!”

He paused, and looked back.

When she awkwardly rose to her feet, she sputtered, “You…you…” she gasped to catch her breath, and nearly had her arm yanked out of its socket.

He swung back around to continue marching toward the keep, dragging her along.

“You can’t keep me here,” she wailed.

“You will go nowhere without my permission,” he stated, his voice firm and matter-of-fact.

“You mean, I’m your prisoner?”

“If that will keep you where I want you, then yes!”

“You’re hurting me,” she lied.

He turned toward her again.

That was all the slack she needed. With her wrist still trapped in his grip, she jerked it upward, twisting his arm behind his back. She held it there with both of her hands, pushing him until he leaned over.

“Oooh!” their audience breathed, then fell silent.

Except, of course, for Donald who chortled gleefully. “Who’s giving the orders now, my lord?”

“Jacq, you had best let go of me now,” Rufus said, his voice strained and treacherously low.

“Ha! Rather cocky for someone who’s kissing his knees,” she goaded.

“Let me go, wench!” he roared.

“Not until you take it back.”

“All right,” he hissed. “You are not my prisoner.”

“And you won’t force me to stay?” she asked, her voice mockingly sweet.

“And I won’t force you to stay,” he gritted out.

“Okay, I guess I’ll let you go, then,” she said, reluctantly loosening her grip, a little disappointed he’d given her up so easily.

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Pretty full of herself and her self-defense techniques, Jacq wiped her hands together and turned to march back to the chapel.

Before she’d taken a step, a brawny arm snagged her waist and Rufus tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He strode once more toward the keep.

“Put me down!” she screeched, her legs flailing. “You said I wasn’t your prisoner.”

“I lied.” Rufus sounded as if he was enjoying his maneuver. “What you’d call a little diversion.”

“You can’t do this! What about honor?”

“Honor be damned.”

“That’s no way for a knight to act.” She pounded against his back. “What about chivalry?”

“I reserve chivalry for those who deserve it.” He swatted her bottom.

“Oooh!” She kicked her long legs. “Why you rude, inconsiderate Neanderthal. Put me down, now.”

“More insults I cannot comprehend?”

She felt a light pinch to her buttocks.

The stone steps of the keep flashed by Jacq’s gaze and she increased her struggle as her alarm grew.

“Would you like a stick to beat her with, milord?” someone from the crowd shouted out.

“No, he most certainly does not!” Jacq yelled, appalled at the suggestion. She could swear Gwen had thrown the comment.

“I have heard a good spanking can tame a troublesome wench,” Donald’s voice called out.

“Donald, you’ll pay for that,” she promised.

“Be careful, milord, for her bite may be much worse than her bark,” said another unnamed fellow who sounded like he knew it from experience.

“Thank you, but I think I can handle this on my own.” Rufus pushed through the door and crossed the great hall.

Jacq twisted her torso up to glare at the crowd. “What is wrong with you people?

Are you just going to let him treat me like this?”

Everyone to a person replied in unison. “Yes!”

“You put them up to this, didn’t you?” Jacq railed at Rufus as he took the steps to the upper level, two at a time. “I’m taking the recipe for black powder to my grave, do you hear me?” she yelled for the benefit of those following them up the stairs.

Striding to the door of their chamber, he kicked it open then closed it behind them with a foot, shutting out their disappointed audience. Three long strides brought him to the bed where he dumped her.

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Jacq pushed her skirts down, then pulled her hair away from her face and glared, determined he wouldn’t know how alarmed she’d become.

His face was hard, his eyes glinting. “Now as my prisoner, you will tell me just what you thought you doing back there in the chapel.”

She ignored his menacing look, sniffed and plucked at a grass stem clinging to her skirt. When the silence dragged on, she glowered and stuck her tongue out at him.

His arms were crossed over his chest, and his face wore a whenever-you-are-ready-to-begin-groveling look.

That particular look made her see red. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how effectively he was pushing her buttons. Sitting Indian style on the massive bed, she crossed her arms and pressed her lips together.

“You will tell me what you planned, or I will have to use other methods to get you to talk.”

She emitted a snort and, clamping her lips tighter, turned away from him.

“By your silence, I take it you want to see what measures I will use. So be it.”

From the corner of her eye she saw him strip his tunic over his head and toss it to the floor. His boots followed and then his shirt. In only his braies and hose, his naked torso glistened with the sheen of perspiration.

Jacq’s eyes widened. He wasn’t playing fair. She scrunched her eyes shut and counted in her head.
One…God, he’s a hunk…two…he’s so damn sexy when he’s
mad…three…please, don’t lose the pants… four…oh, hell, what’s the use?

They came together on the count of five before Rufus’ braies cleared his ankles. Jacq wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist and kissed him as if her life depended on it. She was desperate for him. So desperate, she wanted him to crawl right inside her and make them one person.

Rufus set her on her feet, grasped the front of her gown at the neck and ripped it open all the way to her waist. The undergown was just as quickly rent into oblivion.

With a swipe of his hand, he cleared the material away until she stood gloriously naked.

Then he reached for her and tossed her on the bed. His jaw was tight, his lips thinned and determined, as he stepped out of his braies and toward her.

Jacq yelped and tried to crawl backward on the mattress, afraid he really had another sort of punishment in mind. Maybe she’d pushed him too far.

He climbed onto the mattress and walked on his knees until he hovered over her, then each “step” rubbed deliciously at her pussy as he moved her up the bed.

Jacq gasped, suddenly remembering the point of their argument. He was not the boss of her!

Before Rufus could gain the upper hand, Jacq pushed him onto his back and straddled his middle.

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His chest heaved below her, and she felt a tremor run through him against her open thighs. Power, heady and decisively feminine, surged through her. She had Rufus right where she wanted him and he was loving it. “This doesn’t mean I intend to stay.”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” he growled.

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Jacq almost smiled at how modern he sounded, and swatted at his hands when he tried to pull her to him and end the discussion. “You haven’t won this battle, buster,”

she said, adding a scowl so he’d know she was serious. “This is not a surrender.”

Rufus ignored her comment. He became an octopus. Fingers kneaded her buttocks, tweaked her breasts and skimmed the steamy cleft between her legs.

She gasped and moaned, then reminded herself to be strong. She grabbed his hands and placed them firmly above his head, leaning all her weight to hold them there.

He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really think you have me?” he asked silkily.

She glared. “You bet,” she lied. She could feel the power bunching in the muscles braced against her thighs.

His eyelids drooped, his gaze zeroing in on the tips of her breasts that were drawing to exquisite points. “All right, then,” he grumbled. “Let us call a truce.”

“This doesn’t mean you’ve won,” she said, suddenly breathless.

“Of course not,” he said, his voice urgent now.

She rewarded him by placing his palms on her butt. “You really are cute when you’re horny.”

“Hunh?” his question was garbled, because his mouth was already filled with plump breast of woman. He bit the tip, causing her to squeal, then flicked it with his tongue.

“Do that again, and I’ll promise not to go easy on you.”

He snorted, and she sensed what suspiciously felt like a laugh rumble through his chest. The magical, multi-tentacled digits pressed to her posterior dipped into the continental divide, grazing her sensitive asshole.

“Oooh, baby. Do it again, just like that.” She gasped and rolled her hips, rubbing against his rock-hard shaft. When she glanced down she noted his satisfied grin.

He grasped her hips firmly to position her for the home run.

“Oh no, you don’t!” She lifted away from him, frowning. It really was hard to remember the point she was trying to make, when his point was so pushy. She reached behind her, running her hand along his thigh, until she held his sac in one palm. She squeezed.