him. He hadn’t been mistaken. Unusually though, she lacked the hardness he associated with harlots. Perhaps that came with time. As yet she was unmarked by her experiences and, at closer quarters, even more desirable. The strength of his reaction surprised him. His gaze travelled downwards, mentally removing the cloth again. Seeing this, the colour rose in her face.
‘How long have you been watching me?’
‘Long enough.’
The blush deepened and the hazel eyes sparkled with anger. ‘How dare you spy on me?’
‘Unforgivable I know,’ he admitted, ‘but impossible to look away. Figures like yours are all too rare.’
She drew in a sharp breath at the sheer effrontery of it. Undismayed he waited, surveying her with keen enjoyment.
‘You spy on me and then you insult me,’ she said.
‘No insult, lady, I swear. Consider it rather in the nature of homage to your beauty.’
‘Such homage I can do without.’
‘But it must be paid anyway.’
She shrugged. ‘A cat may look at a king.’
‘Or a queen,’ he replied.
‘I do not aspire so high.’
‘Why, no, for if you were a queen you would not be alone in such a place as this; nor would you swim naked in the burn.’
Isabelle’s heart sank and she backed another pace. The stranger came on, moving with apparent nonchalance.
‘You need have no fear of me, lady. I won’t hurt you.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Half an hour of your time, for which I will pay in gold.’
Her cheeks so pink before turned pale. He couldn’t be serious. Another look at his expression disabused her of the idea. His intentions were unmistakable. Talking her way out of trouble was no longer an option. There was only one possibility now: to run for it.
He caught her in three strides, swinging her up into his arms. Isabelle shrieked. There followed a few seconds of furious struggle but his hold didn’t alter. If anything he seemed amused. For one brief instant he looked into her face, then bent his head and brought his lips down on hers.
Her stifled cry of protest was ignored, and the kiss became more insistent, his mouth seeking her response in a more intimate embrace. Being crushed against him it was harder to breathe. Naked warmth pressed close. He drew back a little and again the blue eyes burned into hers, their expression unmistakable. Her heart lurched painfully.
‘Please, I beg you …’
The construction he put on the words was quite other than she had intended. ‘Have no fear, my sweet, you’ll get what you want I promise you.’
Panic-stricken now, she redoubled her efforts. ‘Let go of me! Put me down!’
He retained his hold with difficulty. ‘What the devil …?’
‘I said let me go!’
In another woman he’d have suspected playful protest and half-hearted struggle to increase his ardour, but there was nothing coy about her tone or expression and nothing half-hearted about her struggles. He frowned.
‘Hold still, you little hellion. I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘Then put me down.’
Hearing the note of fear beneath her command he hesitated. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘How can you ask me that, you clod?’
‘Clod is it? Perhaps I should show you otherwise.’
She almost lunged out of his arms. ‘You’ll have to kill me first.’
‘I have no intention of killing you, you little fool, only of pleasuring you.’
‘Never!’
The challenge was there and the temptation. He gritted his teeth, only too aware of the hot ache in his loins, of understanding that he wanted her more than any woman he could remember, and knowing how easy it would be to see his will met. Then he looked into her face. It reaffirmed the fear and reluctance he had seen before. Passion began to ebb. He’d seen enough of violence and violation to last him a lifetime. He wouldn’t inflict that on any woman, least of all this one.
‘For one who desires to escape a man’s attentions you are very scantily clad.’
She made no reply to this but the look in her eyes was eloquent enough. His frown deepened.
‘Have no fear. I’ll not take a woman against her will.’
To her unspeakable relief he slackened his hold and set her on her feet. Grabbing the linen sheet she drew it higher, clutching it close. Her face was very pale, her heart thundering against her ribs.
He glared at her. ‘I think you’d better explain.’
‘I … It’s not what you think. In truth it is not. I thought only to bathe.’
‘A foolish thought,’ he replied. ‘Does your husband know you ride out alone?’
‘I am not married.’ That much was true at any rate and she had no intention of enlightening him about the rest.
The news surprised him. She was of more than marriageable age and fair besides. ‘Your father then?’
She shook her head. ‘He does not know.’
‘He should keep a closer watch on you. It’s madness for a woman to ride this country alone. Anything might have happened; rape is the least of it. You could as easily get your throat cut.’
Her cheeks burned, as much for the knowledge of her own folly as for the justice of the rebuke. The stranger’s expression was thunderous, his strength frightening. When she thought of what he could have done, what he might still do, her stomach wallowed. She just had to pray he’d meant it when he said he’d never forced a woman.
Though she could not know it, much of his anger was directed at himself, realising what he had so nearly done, what he would still like to do. Imagination sent another surge of heat to his groin. With an effort he controlled it. Then he bent and retrieved her clothes, tossing them to her.
‘Get dressed.’
She caught the garments awkwardly. He made no move to turn away. Annoyance mingled with fear.
‘Are you going to watch?’
‘It’s a little late for modesty now, sweetheart.’
Biting back the hot reply that sprang to her lips, she hurriedly slipped on the kirtle and let the linen towel fall before donning her gown. The stranger’s gaze never wavered. He handed her the woven girdle and watched her fasten it. She turned away from him to put on her stockings, tying her garters with shaking hands. Then she slid her feet into her shoes. He surveyed her critically.
‘A little dishevelled but decent at least,’ he observed.
Isabelle glared at him. Ban smiled faintly, acknowledging her courage, but his blue eyes held a dangerous glint. ‘You are haughty for one who reveals her charms so freely.’
Anger began to replace anxiety. ‘I did not deliberately reveal myself to you.’
‘The outcome might well have been the same. Fortunately for you, I have no taste for raping virgins.’
Virginity was a state long lost though she had no intention of sharing the irony. If he thought her experienced he might well change his mind and finish what he’d begun.
‘No,’ she retorted, ‘only for gloating.’
He stared at her, incredulous. ‘You ungrateful little vixen! I ought to warm your backside for that.’