The Heiress Bride. Susan Paul
you to London!”
She perched as high as she could in her saddle, trying in vain to level herself with Hugh Caldwell.
“Then what good do you do me?” she demanded. “I’ve told you over and again that I must get to London as quickly as possible, yet you refuse to tell me how taking me to your brother will help me in getting there. Don’t you understand anything? I must get to London!”
“I understand perfectly, Rosaleen,” Hugh replied with what he felt was admirable calm, considering the measure of his vexation. “And I promise that my brother will be able to help you. He is a man of no small influence and can help you attain whatever goal you have. He could even get you an audience with King Henry, if you desired it.”
With a sigh, Rosaleen settled back into her saddle and turned her eyes to the road. Hugh Caldwell was lying, there could be no mistake of that. What would such a man as he know about influence? His brother was probably a pig farmer, a big man in some unknown village who held a few dozen ignorant peasants in thrall. And as for Hugh Caldwell himself.. .well! She didn’t care how handsome he was or how handy with a sword. He was as bad as a pig himself. Worse, even, for he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to treat a lady.
“How far away is this so esteemed brother of yours?” she asked, thinking that she must start planning anew her route to London.
He sounded grim as he answered, “Two days’ ride. No more than that.”
“You live with your brother, then? In the same village?”
“No.” He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “I’ve not been home in over ten years. In truth, I have no home.”
“Really?” Rosaleen’s womanly heart responded to the sad note of his reply. “That seems very strange. Ten years! Did something happen to keep you from returning to your family? A fight with your brother?”.
He shook his head. “No fight, Rosaleen, and you may keep your curiosity to yourself. It’s no concern of yours, just as you are no concern of mine. I’ll take you to my brother and leave you in his care, and then I shall be on my way. If God is truly gracious, we’ll never set eyes on one another again.”
“Save on the day of your execution, of course,” Rosaleen returned sweetly. “Will not your brother be surprised to see you after ten years?”
Hugh made a snorting sound. “You’ve no need to worry, Rosaleen. He’ll not turn you away. You’ll get to London.”
“That’s not what I meant. And I can very well get to London without any help from you, Hugh Caldwell, so you needn’t think I’m worried about anything at all. I simply wondered whether your brother wouldn’t be surprised to see you. And what of the rest of your family? What will they think to have you suddenly come riding into your village after having been gone so long? Why, if it’s truly been ten years, you must have been little more than a child when you left.”
Hugh laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “God’s bones, what a chattering little creature you are, Rosaleen no-name. And if you’re not worried about anything at all, then why do you keep looking about as though you expect someone to jump out at us any moment?”
“I’m not…” Rosaleen stopped herself. In truth, she was worried. They were traveling on a main road, out in the open for any and all to see. She had tried to impress upon Hugh Caldwell the need to ride more secretively, but the arrogant beast had insisted they would be fine…kept safe by himself, of course. It would serve him right if her uncle and all his men came riding down upon their heads.
“Why will you not answer my questions?” she asked, changing the subject. “How old were you when you left home? Ten and five years of age? Ten and six?”
“I’ll not let anything happen to you, Rosaleen,” he assured her, changing the subject, as well, “and I’ll certainly not let anything happen to me, so you may rest easy.”
“Well, God’s mercy, Hugh Caldwell, I’m glad to hear it,” Rosaleen replied with sarcastic relief. “I’d not want anything to happen to you, either, before I get a chance to see you hang.”
Hugh sighed loudly. “You, my sweet, are a true example of the gentle flower of womanhood. Your sharp tongue causes me to wonder if your uncle wasn’t beating the wrong person. It seems that the one who’d need the forcing would be the man picked to marry you, not the other way around.”
Rosaleen gasped furiously. “Oh!”
“What a dread fate it would be,” Hugh continued pleasantly, “waking each morn to be greeted by that sharp little tongue. On the other hand, of course, there is your soft body to make some recompense for your shrewish nature, as I know firsthand.” He grinned at her lecherously.
“Why, you…you…you…”
Hugh clucked and shook his head. “No, I cannot think even that would make marriage to you a pleasant prospect. Are you certain this fellow your uncle chose wanted to wed you, Rosaleen? I find it very hard to believe.”
“Oh, you wretch!” She knew very well that he was baiting her, purposefully trying to anger her. She knew, too, that she was behaving exactly like the shrew he called her. It wasn’t like her to behave so badly, but then, she had never before found herself in the company of such a crude, infuriating man. “Yes, he wished to wed me, though you may choose not to believe it if you like. In truth, Hugh Caldwell, I don’t care what you believe of me.”
Hugh was disappointed with her tame answer. He had insulted her so beautifully that he’d been certain she would have flown into a good rage at the very least. Instead, she seemed to have understood his intent and had calmed herself and answered readily. She was smart, little Rosaleen no-name, and if there was one thing Hugh avoided as he would the plague, it was smart females. He’d have to keep his wits about him or he’d shortly find himself behaving decently, and the ten years he’d spent cultivating himself to do otherwise would be for naught. He’d already been too damned nice to her as it was. In truth, it might be said that he’d behaved chivalrously, a thought that actually made him shudder.
“I see,” he said. “Then if your chosen mate was so hot to wed you, sweet, what was the trouble? Was he not to your liking? Or wasn’t he good enough for such a fine lady?”
He’d meant the words as he meant everything he said, mockingly, but her reaction, the look on her face, made him regret speaking them.
Rosaleen shut her eyes and tried to push away the image of Simon of Denning. “No, he was just so…” How could she explain? How could she put Sir Simon’s huge, terrifying hands…hands matted with the blackest of hair, hands that groped and squeezed and hurt…how could she put them into words? How could she relate his cruelty, his lust, his strength, which made her know only too well how easily he could crush her to his will when it pleased him to do so? God’s mercy! She didn’t want to think of him! She didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be shoved up against a wall and held there by the weight of his hard body, fighting nausea when he vised her jaw between two strong fingers and forcibly opened her mouth so that he could thrust his tongue inside, or wincing at the pain of his strong fingers squeezing and pinching her breasts, or wanting so much to faint so she wouldn’t have to feel the hardness of his sex as he rhythmically rocked it against her, speaking his crude, filthy words about what he was going to do to her when they were finally wed.
Twice he had actually found his pleasure with her that way, pushing himself against her, grunting like a hog eating its swill, until he finally shuddered with his release. Rosaleen had almost been relieved when he had, for at least he had let her go and, with the laughter of contentment, had patted her like a dog and jested of how he would have to suffer with the wetness she had wrought in his chausses.
He’d been so pleased on those two occasions, so pleased, while she had felt so sick and helpless.
“Rosaleen.” Hugh Caldwell spoke to her. She felt a gentle touch on her cheek. “Rosaleen.” His voice was strangely tender.
She