Page 6 of His Betrothed
Chapter 2
Roselyn scrambled away from Thornton, accidentally kicking over the bowl of stew. She pressed her back against the wall and stared wildly at him, waiting for him to awaken and remind her of all the sins she’d committed.
She suddenly had a vivid recollection of the eve of her wedding, remembered his face looking her over with a casual cynicism and then looking away in disinterest.Her guilt for her own part in that disaster was swallowed by a sudden flaring of outraged anger at him, at her parents, for what they’d all forced her to do. Remembering it made her stomach clench.
Just when she thought her life was proceeding at an even pace—she had a place to live, a way to earn her livelihood, and a few friends who cared about her—she had to face a ghost out of her past.
Not a ghost, she told herself, but a man who’dwronged her—a man she, too, had wronged, she forced herself to admit.
And he was no common sailor.
Roselyn thought again of the foreign words he’d mumbled. His mother was Spanish; naturally he knew the language. Yet what was he doing with the fleet—and which fleet was he with? Did he hold alliances with Spain that she knew nothing about?
Slidingdown against the wall, she buried her face in her hands and shuddered. Why was this happening to her? She had tried to escape Thornton—and ended up shackled to Philip, a man no better, who wanted her only for the same reasons Thornton did: money and power.
Just when she’d come to terms with living her life alone, Thornton reappeared. She remembered the words he’d mumbled,Do you live on my land?Could he have bought property near Shanklin?
That night Roselyn couldn’t sleep. Questions and fears raced through her mind, but she didn’t want to confront them. She rose and dressed by firelight, then went out into the night with only the moon to guide her. She wanted to walk in peace, to feel the breeze on her face, to inhale the soothing smell of flowers and the sea.
Yet when she foundherself near the shedwhere Thornton lay, she was not surprised. Everything she wanted to escape had to do with him. With a heavy sigh, she opened the door.
A shaft of moonlight cut across the pile of drying grass—but Thornton wasn’t lying upon it. The blanket she had covered him with lay in a heap on the ground.
For a moment she remained frozen with shock, then came back to herself and quicklysearched the shed. He was gone.
Had someone discovered him and taken him away? Surely Francis Heywood would have been notified, and the sound of men’s voices as they trudged to the shed would have alerted her.
Could Thornton have left on his own? He was weak from his injuries, and he wouldn’t be able to stand with a broken leg.
But he’d also been delirious with fever.
Roselyn searched themoonlit ground outside the shed, and found dark stains in the grass. She touched them with her fingers and felt wetness, then lifted her hand to her face and smelled fresh blood.
She straightened and looked out across the estate. For a moment she was torn with indecision; should she let him go?
But she couldn’t allow him to bleed to deathin the grass, or fall off the cliff onto the rocky beach.She wouldn’t be able to live with the sin of her cowardice.
So she followed the trail of crushed grass made by Thornton’s body. Every moment she expected to catch sight of him, but he’d crawled farther than she would have imagined. Her nervous fears increased, and the darkness seemed to wrap around her, with the wind picking up to tug at her unbound hair. She thought she heard the sound of voices,but it faded so abruptly she knew she must be imagining it.
Where was he?
Just as she began to wonder if she’d followed the wrong trail, she saw a glimmer of something parting the grass before her. She knelt down and found Thornton, whose bare chest gleamed by moonlight between the bandages. He wore only Philip’s old breeches. He lay on his side, trying to struggle up onto his knees.
Thoughshe didn’t want to touch him, she forced herself to place her hand on his arm. She felt the fire of his fever as he suddenly grasped her wrist and yanked her to the ground. She twisted onto her back, but before she could move he was upon her, his forearm against her throat. She tried to yell, but her voice came out as a muffled gasp.
Kicking her heels into the ground and thrashing, she caughthis arm and managed to pull it enough to breathe. His eyes were narrowed; his teeth were bared in a grimace above her.
“Thornton!” she rasped. “I’m not your enemy!”
She rolled and tried to push him off her, and in their struggles his free hand caught her waist. He immediately went still. All she could hear was his breath rattling in his chest. Slowly, his hand skimmed up her rib cage.
“Yes,I am a woman!” she said in outrage, before his touch could become too intimate. She slid out from beneath him, and he allowed her escape, collapsing forward onto his elbows.
“Mr. Thornton,” she whispered regretfully, “you must come back with me.”
He got one knee beneath him and tried to crawl away from her, but ended up sinking down into the grass with a moan. He was muttering, and when sheleaned closer, she realized that he was using Spanish again.
Suddenly Roselyn felt a whisper of goose-flesh rise across her arms, and she stilled. Again, she heard voices, and realized with dawning horror that there were men out on the cliffs. She collapsed onto her stomach at Thornton’s side, her breath coming rapidly.
