Chapter One
Dear heaven, what was that foul odor?
She opened her eyes then slammed them shut with a groan. She had a huge ax embedded in her skull. That had to be it. Nothing else would explain the crippling pain in her head.
Trying not to breathe in the horrible stench, she lay still with her eyes closed tight and took stock of her situation. She was face up on a hard surface. No light penetrated her eyelids, so wherever she was, it was dark here or dimly lit.
She wiggled her fingers then stretched. Flexed her toes.
Everything seemed to be in working order, but even those slight movements took effort. Whatever she was lying on felt scratchy, and she suspected it was the source of the horrible stench. She started to roll onto her side and was hit with a wave of nausea. She wasn’t sure if it was from the odor or the pain. Either way, she decided to wait a bit before risking movement again.
She sagged back and tried to concentrate. Why does my head feel like it’s been cleaved in two? And where the hell am I?
In a pig sty, judging from the awful smell. She lifted one hand and ran it tentatively over her head, afraid of what she might feel there. No murder weapon protruding from her forehead. No sticky wetness, so no blood pouring out of her head. Only a tender lump under her hair, just above her right temple. She normally pulled the unruly mop of curls around her face into two plump braids fastened together at the back of her head, with the rest of her hair tumbling halfway down her back underneath them. The thick braid on that side of her head must have absorbed the worst of whatever blow she’d suffered.
A cold draft brought fresh air with it, and she breathed in gratefully. It carried the unmistakable scent of the ocean. Am I on vacation at the seaside? Wait – was I in a shipwreck?
She tried desperately to think. What’s the last thing I remember? The noise. That was it. The noise woke her out of a sound sleep. She wasn’t one to panic, but this was frightening. The shouting, the screaming. Someone banging at her door. Then she was running full out. Panting for breath, heart pounding, with her hand clasped in another, bigger one. A blast of pain – and darkness.
It could have been a shipwreck. Maybe she was remembering the screams and shouts of passengers panicking. Had she jumped overboard, hit her head on the railing? If I was in a shipwreck, I’d be all wet. She ran a hand over her body to see if her clothes were damp – and gasped. No long silk gown. Not even the filmy, lace-trimmed shift she normally slept in. Only some sort of cloth tied in a knot around one hip, barely long enough to reach mid-thigh. The fabric felt rough and cheap.
Her hands moved up and touched bare skin. From the waist up, she was apparently naked. She felt for the gold locket she always wore on a chain around her neck and let out a strangled scream. It was gone – replaced by what felt for all the world like an iron collar.
She heard a door open then the thud of heavy boots on a wooden floor. A blast of cold air hit her, and she felt her nipples pucker.
“So – you’re finally awake.”
The masculine voice was low and so deep it sent a little shiver through her. Or maybe it was just the sudden chill in the air.
She opened her eyes a crack. Over her head, a low ceiling of hand-hewn beams with patches of bark still on them. Holding it up, rough plaster walls that were once white, now overlaid with years of grime. She was lying on a thin mattress filled with straw placed directly on a bare wood floor. Stuffing probably hasn’t been changed in years. No wonder it stinks so bad.
The thought of the unsavory creatures that might be burrowing around underneath her made her bolt upright. Another wave of dizzying pain and nausea washed over her. She bent forward on the mattress, groaning, with one hand on her forehead and the other over her mouth.
“Oh God. I’m going to be sick.”
The thuds came closer, along with the deep voice. A broad palm supported her back, and she felt a rough hand grip her shoulder, steadying her.
“Breathe. Slow and deep. You took a nasty blow to the head. It’s going to hurt like a devil dog for a while, but trust me. The sooner you’re up and moving, the sooner it will pass.”
“Never believe the next words from the mouth of a man who says ‘Trust me.’ That’s what my father used to say,” she muttered.
“Your father was a wise man. But, in this case, you’ll find I’m right. You need fluids and fresh air. And you need to be upright. Come on.”
The hand on her back moved to her upper arm and hoisted her to her feet. She swayed and grabbed for him. He was huge. Though she was a tall woman, her head barely reached his shoulders. Her hands came in contact with a linen shirt covering a broad chest packed with muscle. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight until the room quit spinning.
He put an arm around her shoulders and stood there, solid as a tree, while she hung onto him as though she’d be swept away if she let go. He brushed the tangled mass of curls aside and ran his palm up and down her back. Calming her, soothing her with the contact of his skin against hers. She sighed and sagged against him then blushed, remembering her half-naked state. When her fingers finally unclutched from the fabric of his shirt, he reached down with his other hand and tipped her chin up.
Piercing blue eyes with a few wrinkles around them. Wavy dark hair in need of a trim, with a hint of gray at the temples. He had a lean face with the rugged tan of an outdoorsman. Not an ounce of fleshy padding from rich food and lazy living like most of the men she knew. A thin scar ran along his left cheek from the corner of his ear to just above the jawbone. She couldn’t help wondering how his opponent had fared.
His face wasn’t pretty. But it had character. The face of a man who’d seen the best and the worst of the world – and survived both with his honor intact. A face you’d never forget.
She had no idea who he was.