Page 5 of Her Dark Seduction
“I merely wish to ride,” I snapped. “I have no wish to engage in conversation with you.”
Spurring the mare on, I rode out of the stable yard, ignoring the servants bowing before their mistress.
The spring air almost banished my melancholy. Riding through the forest, seeing the leaf buds beginning to form, I could almost believe I was living the blessed life of a noblewoman—one with a purpose and a loving family. A life filled with fulfillment from tending to the people that depended on me.
Urging my horse into a gallop, I closed my eyes and tipped my head skyward, relishing the warmth of the sun on my face, safe in the knowledge that my horse and I rode together as one. The soft rush of the breeze danced in a melodic rhythm with the mare’s hoof beats, though they were soon drowned out by the staccato footfall of another horse.
Looking behind, I saw Wyatt approaching. Though I slowed to a canter, he continued to bear down on me until he drew level and steered his horse against my own, forcing me to stop.
“You are not to leave my side, lady.”
“For what purpose?”
“For your safety. Come, ’tis time we returned. Your husband has never taken kindly to any of his wives running about unfettered.”
“How dare you speak to me so!” I cried.
Grinning, he reached out, his hand moving too quickly for me to pull back, and he took my wrist, squeezing it with his thick, fleshy fingers.
“Let me go,” I said.
His smile widened, showing the gaps between his teeth as he thrust his face close. I wrinkled my nostrils at his sour breath, and he chuckled.
“Who is it? Has he been chosen yet?”
“I do not understand.”
“Come, come, my lady. You’ve been here for three whole days. Are you telling me the deed has not yet been done?”
I shook my head and tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened.
“My bloodline should suffice,” he said, the stench of his breath intensifying. “My lord Mortlock values me highly. Mayhap he’ll reward me now I have earned my spurs—and what a tasty reward it would be.”
His grin disappeared and his eyes narrowed.
Swallowing my fear, I smiled back at him, my free hand trembling only slightly where I held a knife against his wrist, pressing into the flesh where his vein lay. Too often, I had fended off unwelcome advances from Papa’s men. From an early age I always concealed a small knife about my person for defense.
“Perhaps we should ask my husband who he values more,” I said, “a baron’s younger son, a landless lackey who lives in servitude, or his wife—the only child of a baron, with all the estates and titles bestowed on her.”
His fingers twitched, and I increased the pressure on the knife.
“The blade is sharp, Monsieur Wyatt. I would advise you to loosen your hold.”
“I could snap your neck, woman, whether your blade cuts me or no.”
I gripped the knife tighter, steadying my hand.
“How might you explain a dead wife to your master when she has been placed in your care?” I challenged. “Try it—if you dare.”
He withdrew his hand. Tucking my knife into my kirtle, I reined my horse, turning her in a tight circle, and spurred her into a canter, aware Wyatt was following. As soon as I spotted the outbuildings surrounding Mortlock Fort, I called out to the stable hands to assist me, my voice almost breaking with relief as they came into view. Dismounting, I turned my back on Wyatt and crossed the yard, but not before he called out to me.
“You will soon learn your true value, woman. Then I shall take my due and make you pay for your insult today.”
