Prisoner of the Flames (Leisure Historical Romance) by Dawn MacTavish
Authors: Dawn MacTavish
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the soldiers soon vanished from the weald, their victory won, and their leader fallen. Robert’s only regret was that the fire prevented him from going back for his
sgian dubh.
Fortune further smiled uponthem when they reached Paris, for the city slept unaware as he walked his weary gelding across the deserted bridge in the teeming rain. It pelted down on a brutal slant out of the southbound wind. Sheltered from the brunt of it riding behind, the depleted girl clung listlessly to him, her head resting heavily upon the clenched muscles in his back. That soft, sweet body rubbing against him had aroused him so severely that his codpiece, which still contained his coins, was causing physical pain with the motion of the horse, and he had to raise it.
Freeing his engorged sex, he soothed it in his palm. At least, that was how it began, but his pelvis jerked forward, and the traitorous member leaped in his hand, hot and hard, palpitating in a steady rhythm. Behind, Violette stirred. She’d begun to doze and nearly slipped from the horse’s back. As she seized him about the middle to steady herself, the soft, round orbs of her breasts pressed up against his broad back and his posture clenched. Even through their garments he could feel her heat, her supple roundness. Every curve of her body trembled against him, and he was undone. His breath caught in his throat. Waves of drenching fire exploded in his loins as the shuddering climax pumped him dry.
Release and blood loss had sapped his strength. His member, slow to return to a flaccid state, still throbbed a steady rhythm. And though he’d bound the wound tightly with a strip of homespun cloth Violette had bequeathed from the hem of her shift, he’d lost much blood beforehand. Vertigo caused his head to spin, and he fantasized laying upon the wool-stuffed mattresses between soft sheets. Rounding the bend in the road that led to the safe haven at last, he narrowed his eyes, scanning the needles of rain stabbing down for a glimpse of the familiar brick façade, only to rein in sharply and conceal his mount among the trees off the path at sight of the cardinal’s standard born by a mounted escort.They flanked a sedan chair, likewise emblazoned with the cardinal’s device, and he didn’t have to wonder who was seated inside. Robert started, fascinated. He had never seen the like of that conveyance in Scotland, or England either, for that matter, and he made a mental note to bring the concept of such technology home, if he ever did reach his beloved Scottish shores again. He was beginning to doubt he would.
It was scarcely two hours before dawn, and the cardinal’s untimely presence at that hour could only mean one thing—Louis de Brach’s body had been found with his Scottish
sgian dubh
sunken in his belly to the hilt.
He quickly dismounted, lifted Violette down beside him, and gave the gelding’s rump a whack that sent the animal homeward along the road at a gallop, just as the admiral’s men approached bearing torches and flinging turf churned up from the muddy track in their haste.
“What do you do?” she cried, bewildered, as the horse’s hoofbeats grew distant.
“The cardinal and soldiers of Coligny are at the château. They are just now arriving. At least, I believe they are the admiral’s men. They carry the Huguenot standard. They could only have come for me. I deserted the battle, when Louis de Brach set upon you. I killed him. We cannot stay here. I cannot bring this upon seigneur de Montaigne. ‘Tis clear that both factions seek me now—the cardinal, because of Louis de Brach, and Coligny, because I took part in the slaughter of his flock at that village. Poor Michel. It is best that he think me dead—at least for the time being. It will protect him from accusation of complicity in my escape.”
“Dead?”
she breathed. “But…how? I do not understand.”
“Forgive me, lass,” said Robert. “You are so perceptive that I tend to forget that you
sgian dubh.
Fortune further smiled uponthem when they reached Paris, for the city slept unaware as he walked his weary gelding across the deserted bridge in the teeming rain. It pelted down on a brutal slant out of the southbound wind. Sheltered from the brunt of it riding behind, the depleted girl clung listlessly to him, her head resting heavily upon the clenched muscles in his back. That soft, sweet body rubbing against him had aroused him so severely that his codpiece, which still contained his coins, was causing physical pain with the motion of the horse, and he had to raise it.
Freeing his engorged sex, he soothed it in his palm. At least, that was how it began, but his pelvis jerked forward, and the traitorous member leaped in his hand, hot and hard, palpitating in a steady rhythm. Behind, Violette stirred. She’d begun to doze and nearly slipped from the horse’s back. As she seized him about the middle to steady herself, the soft, round orbs of her breasts pressed up against his broad back and his posture clenched. Even through their garments he could feel her heat, her supple roundness. Every curve of her body trembled against him, and he was undone. His breath caught in his throat. Waves of drenching fire exploded in his loins as the shuddering climax pumped him dry.
Release and blood loss had sapped his strength. His member, slow to return to a flaccid state, still throbbed a steady rhythm. And though he’d bound the wound tightly with a strip of homespun cloth Violette had bequeathed from the hem of her shift, he’d lost much blood beforehand. Vertigo caused his head to spin, and he fantasized laying upon the wool-stuffed mattresses between soft sheets. Rounding the bend in the road that led to the safe haven at last, he narrowed his eyes, scanning the needles of rain stabbing down for a glimpse of the familiar brick façade, only to rein in sharply and conceal his mount among the trees off the path at sight of the cardinal’s standard born by a mounted escort.They flanked a sedan chair, likewise emblazoned with the cardinal’s device, and he didn’t have to wonder who was seated inside. Robert started, fascinated. He had never seen the like of that conveyance in Scotland, or England either, for that matter, and he made a mental note to bring the concept of such technology home, if he ever did reach his beloved Scottish shores again. He was beginning to doubt he would.
It was scarcely two hours before dawn, and the cardinal’s untimely presence at that hour could only mean one thing—Louis de Brach’s body had been found with his Scottish
sgian dubh
sunken in his belly to the hilt.
He quickly dismounted, lifted Violette down beside him, and gave the gelding’s rump a whack that sent the animal homeward along the road at a gallop, just as the admiral’s men approached bearing torches and flinging turf churned up from the muddy track in their haste.
“What do you do?” she cried, bewildered, as the horse’s hoofbeats grew distant.
“The cardinal and soldiers of Coligny are at the château. They are just now arriving. At least, I believe they are the admiral’s men. They carry the Huguenot standard. They could only have come for me. I deserted the battle, when Louis de Brach set upon you. I killed him. We cannot stay here. I cannot bring this upon seigneur de Montaigne. ‘Tis clear that both factions seek me now—the cardinal, because of Louis de Brach, and Coligny, because I took part in the slaughter of his flock at that village. Poor Michel. It is best that he think me dead—at least for the time being. It will protect him from accusation of complicity in my escape.”
“Dead?”
she breathed. “But…how? I do not understand.”
“Forgive me, lass,” said Robert. “You are so perceptive that I tend to forget that you
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