Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WayWard Wind (2 page)

Her hair was flying free of the ridiculous little bonnet that she was trying desperately to keep atop her head. He got tired of the loose ribbons slashing at his chin and pushed her hand aside to snatch off the stupid thing, letting it flutter behind them.

"Oh!" he heard her gasp and she actually had the nerve to punch him on the forearm in protest. He chuckled, not in the least perturbed by her little show of bravery. When she did it again, he made up his mind to show her who was in charge and bent his left arm so it snaked around her midriff, just under her breasts, and he jerked her against him, fingers digging into her ribcage, and lowered his head so his lips were at her ear.

"Hit me again and I'll strip you naked and you'll ride that way all the way to Mexico," he warned, his warm breath harsh in her ear but gaining the satisfaction of having her go as still as death in his arms. He didn't know if it was his threat or her finding out where he was taking her that made her turn motionless.

They rode for over an hour--cutting back and forth across the Rio Grande several times before he finally took the trail he had planned. It was hot as hell with the wind having died down to a heavy press of air against them, but in the distance lightning forked and dark clouds were building.

He stopped at a little village for food and water, warning her if she spoke, if she called attention to herself, he'd make her pay for it in ways she might find humiliating.

"I'm not adverse to hiking your skirts over your head and laying a hand to your wide-load ass," he threatened. "There won't be anyone here who'd dare to stop me, either."

Since the villagers did not appear to speak English and her captor spoke to them in Spanish, she had no way of knowing what it was he was saying, but now and again they would look at her and shrug. A few snickered at her.

"What did you tell them?" she got up the nerve to ask.

"That your father hogtied me into marrying you and that I'm stuck with you until I can get you farther south and sell you to whoever will pay me to take you off my hands," he said and when her eyes flared and she looked like she would faint, he laughed hatefully. "I told them you paid me to spirit you away from your old man. Annoy me, though, and I just might be tempted to sell you."

She took him at his word and stood meekly by the horse, waiting for him to finish his business. She eyed his mount but even if she had been an expert horsewoman, she doubted she could control the brute. The horse--like its owner--looked dangerous. With her gaze repeatedly straying to her captor, she knew she'd not get far even if she managed to find a docile horse. The outlaw would come after her and she didn't think the punishment he'd mete out for her daring to defy him would be pleasant.

"Let's go," he told her, striding--no, she thought as she got up from the keg upon which she'd been sitting--the man was strutting toward his horse. She noticed several Mexican girls who were batting their dark lashes at him and he was grinning, obviously enjoying the attention. He said something to them and they all giggled, putting hands over their mouths as though whatever it was he'd said had been risqué.

He stuffed their food into his saddlebags and adjusted the cinch on the saddle. As she joined him, he gave her a disgruntled look then swept his arms under her knees and behind her back and tossed her casually upon his horse once more.

She winced and cried out, scrabbling for the saddle horn. "You are certainly no gentleman," she complained.

"Never said I was," he quipped.

She squirmed in the saddle trying to get comfortable and moaned.

"What the hell's wrong with you?" he growled as he untied the horse.

"If you must know, my posterior is bruised from the riding. My corset is cutting into my waist so I have a stitch in my right side that makes it hard for me to draw a decent breath," she said, surprising him. "And I have a brutal headache."

"We'll be at the cabin in an hour or so," he mumbled and swung up behind her once more. He shifted in the saddle, his taut thighs bumping hers out of the way.

"An hour?" she said and groaned. "I don't think I can take another hour of riding."

"You can and you bloody well will. Or would you prefer I sling your fat ass over the saddle like a sack of salt and let you ride like that?" he countered.

"I wish you would cease speaking to me in that vulgar manner," she told him, trying once again not to come into contact with his broad chest. "I'd rather you drop dead of a heart attack and the horse stomp you to a bloody mush."

"Won't happen," he told her. He moved so his cock pressed into her backside.

"Stop that, you oaf!" she said, leaning forward.

"If you don't sit back, I swear to you, wench, I will sling you over the saddle on your bulging belly."

"You go to hell," she replied as they left the sanctuary of the poor little village, but she leaned back against him though her body was ramrod straight. "And please refrain from poking that thing at me!"

Harper grinned down at her for he planned to do far more than just poke his clothed rod against her. He intended to send her back to her father a little worse for wear and if luck was allowed, with a reminder of the man who had disgraced his precious offspring.

The rain overtook them about ten miles from the cabin he'd provisioned for them. Lightning spewed forth dangerously and he had no choice but to find shelter in a large cave, hoping there weren't already denizens lurking inside it even more dangerous than he knew himself to be. Dismounting, he led his horse into the semi-darkness and found a place to tether him as thunder rumbled, spooking the beast.

Soaked to the skin, her gown plastered to her chubby body, her hair a sodden mess streaking down her back and into her face, the woman had stumbled along in Harper's wake as rain pelted the entrance to the cave, coming down in solid sheets with the wind blowing the rain sideways. She looked a sorry sight and one that shouldn't have aroused anything in him other than disgust, but as she stood there trembling with her arms wrapped around her while he gathered sticks and brush to make a fire to warm them, he found his gaze straying to her more than it should have.

He tossed his saddlebags down.

"Sit down," he said, nudging his chin toward a flat rock that had obviously been used for just that purpose at some point in time. The cave was dry with a good draft coming through the opening which told him there was a crevice somewhere farther back in the rocky expanse that allowed for drawing in fresh air. There were also the remnants of older fires that bespoke humans had used the cave for shelter in the past.

She perched on the edge of the rock and looked around her, arming a wet strand of her fine hair back from her damp face. "Who are you anyway?" she asked.

"What difference does it make?"

"My name is Peytonlía," she said.

"I know who the hell you are, wench," he grated.

"My father will pay a good price for you to return me to him," she said. "You undoubtedly know he's a very wealthy man with a large ranch in Texas."

He was hunkered down in profile to her and didn't reply as flames leapt in the center of the brush he had managed to fire to life. He fanned it with his hat until it was going good and a low light lit the dark walls.

"Did you hear me, Mister ...?"

"I heard you," he muttered then got to his feet to fetch the saddlebags. "And I told you I don't need your damned money."

He saw her looking longingly at the fire and told her to move closer to dry her clothing. He didn't have to make the offer twice for she came to squat down with her hands out to the heat, her skirts tucked securely over her knees.

"That isn't why you abducted me, then?" she asked, turning her head to watch him as he doled out the food he'd purchased at the little cantina into the two tin plates he'd fished out of his saddlebags. When he didn't answer her, she looked back at the fire, staring into the flames. She flinched when he stuck the plate of beans and rice and tamales in front of her.

"It's cold but it'll have to do," he said as he sat down across from her, his legs crossed tailor style as he began scooping the food into his mouth, chewing methodically, his eyes never leaving her face.

She acted as though she'd never had such plain, peasant fare before, but seemed to enjoy it as she ate gracefully, chewing delicately, and occasionally taking a sip of the canteen he had placed between them.

"You are from Scotland, aren't you?" she surprised him by asking.

His eyes narrowed. "How did you know that?"

"You try to hide the brogue but it slips out now and then," she said. "How old were you when you came to America?"

"That's none of your damned business," he grumbled. "You don't need to know nothing about me except I'm a bad man to make an enemy of."

"Is that what my father is to you? An enemy? Is that why you kidnapped me?"

He didn't answer, just finished his food, and went over to set the plate out in the rain. He stood at the cave entrance for a moment then came back to the fire with a look of anger. "Damned rain might keep up all night," he mumbled.

She shrugged and delicately swiped a tortilla through the gravy from the beans. "It'll end when it ends, I guess," she said.

"It'll end when it ends," he mimicked her then unfolded his bedroll and laid it on the ground. He took off his hat and stretched out, crossing his long legs at the ankle as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the stone wall.

"Well, it will," she stated.

Harper wanted to say something else so she wouldn't have the last word, but he was tired of hearing her talk for her thick southern drawl annoyed him.

When she was finished eating, she did as he'd done and took her plate to set it out in the rain to be rinsed clean and like him, she stared out at the rain.

"Get your ass back over here before a lightning bolt zaps down to fry you," he ordered.

"I don't think that's likely," she said.

He craned his head around to pierce her with a glower. "You ever see a man hit by lightning, wench?" he asked. "It isn't a pretty sight although anything might be an improvement on your looks."

He heard her sigh, but she came back to perch on her rock, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"You are such a lout, do you know that?" she asked.

"You want me to show you how big a lout I can be?" he replied with a warning growl.

She tossed her head, looking away from him to stare out the cave entrance. At least she was quiet and he found himself nodding off until he realized she might get up enough courage to beam him with a rock if he let his guard down. Instead, he sat up straighter, uncrossed his legs, and drew one knee up to rest his wrist upon it.

At one point, he caught her staring intently at him and realized her attention was on the vicious scar that ran down his right cheek from temple to chin. His mouth twitched. "Compliments of your father," he informed her.

She flinched, but didn't deny the charge, didn't accuse him of lying. No doubt she knew her father well enough to know he was a brutal man not above marking another man's face in such a cruel way.

"Stop looking at me!" he snapped and when her eyes lowered as though he'd struck her, he felt like a real bastard and that irritated the hell out of him.

In a voice he barely heard, she asked him point blank if he was going to kill her. When he did not answer, she timidly raised her gaze and looked him in the eye. "Are you?" she whispered.

He leaned toward her, his face hateful, his eyes narrowed. "No, bitch," he replied. "I'm going to fuck you."

The moment his words registered, he saw her eyes flare and she sprang to her feet, and ran for the entrance to the cave as fast as her pudgy legs could carry her. She was just barely out in the pouring rain when he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Though she lashed out at him with her fists--hitting him harder than he would have thought possible for a woman her size, getting in one solid slap to his face--and kicking him with her hard little shoes, he bent down, planted his hard shoulder in her midsection and hoisted her from the ground with his arm restraining her legs, ignoring her screams and flailing fists as she pounded at his back, scratching him with her nails as she dug at the small of his back.

He carried her to his blanket and dropped to his knee, letting her fall backward onto the hard ground. Before she could kick out at him, he was shoving the hem of her gown up, wedging himself between her thighs, pinning her wrists above her head with one strong hand as he used his other hand to rip her bodice and chemise downward, exposing her breasts. He reached down to tear her drawers from her lower body, his palm brushing across her wiry curls.

"No!" she shrieked and fought him like a wildcat though her strength was nothing compared to his. He easily restrained her, grunting at her struggling, but his intent clear in the hard glint of his green eyes. The drawers ripped open at the crotch, exposing her sex to him and she hissed.

“Don’t fight me and you won’t get hurt,” he snarled.

He fumbled at the closure of his pants, striving to free his cock, intending to take her with as much savage force as he could, but the erection that throbbed, that pushed with need to be free, that ached to thrust inside her was doing something to her he had not expected. She was panting, but her eyes were glazed and she kept sweeping her tongue over her lips, her body quivering as he pressed his weight atop her, holding her down, his hand trapped between his crotch and hers.

He looked down into her face and as one brutal roll of thunder shook the cave walls around them and lightning flared beyond the entrance, he saw hunger and need building in her. Her lush breasts heaved upward with each harsh breath, but it seemed to him they pressed toward him, offered themselves for his tasting and he lowered his head, drawing the hard little bud deep into his mouth.

"No," she whispered, but it seemed to him not so much a protest of what he was doing to her as what her own body was doing to her.

Suckling her, sweeping his hot tongue over her straining nipple, nibbling gently, he realized he was drawing from her a response neither could have imagined and his hold on her wrists eased.