paused at the door to his bedchamber, his hand on the latch. Why had he sent the girl to his room? He had no intention of treating his captive as a guest or using her as a whore. She was only a pawn in a dangerous game of cat and mouse.
He closed his eyes, picturing Shanara Montiori in his mind: defiant green eyes set beneath soft brown brows, a fall of reddish-brown hair as thick as his own, skin smooth and unblemished.
Reyes swore a vile oath, annoyed by the turn of his thoughts. She was the daughter of his enemy and he would do what he had vowed to do. He would keep her imprisoned while he waited to hear from Montiori, and when her father refused to take her place, as Reyes knew he surely would, Reyes would send her back to her father a piece at a time, until the coward agreed to surrender or to face him, one on one, in a battle to the death. No armies. No spectators. Just the two of them, alone.
He had ordered that she be bathed and attired in clean clothes because he could not, in good conscience, do otherwise. Now it was time to remember that she was his prisoner and treat her as such. He would personally escort her to the dungeon. He would demand that she write a letter to her father, telling Montiori of his terms, and then it was up to Montiori.
Filled with new resolve, Reyes opened the door and stepped inside, felt his breath catch in his throat as she turned away from the hearth to look at him, her eyes wide and startled, like a doe sensing danger. The velvet gown hugged a figure any man would kill to possess. The light from the fire danced in her hair and caressed her cheek.
Clearing his throat, he closed the door behind him.
She took a step backward and then, as though thinking better of it, she drew herself up to her full height. And waited.
And he did what he had been wanting to do from the moment he first saw her. Walking purposefully across the room, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He had expected her lips to be sweet, but he hadn't expected the sudden heat that flowed through him. It wasn't just the heat of desire, or the normal longing of a man for a woman. No, it was more than that, a feeling he didn't understand, one he had never known before.
Forcing himself to let her go, she stared up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. He had to get her out of here, now, he thought, before he drew her down on the bed, removed her gown, and explored the lush curves that lay beneath.
"Follow me," he said curtly, and before he could change his mind, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
After a moment's hesitation, she followed him.
Wordlessly, he led her through the keep and down the winding stone steps that led to the dungeon.
It was a cold and dismal place, lit by torches. He heard the scurrying of rats as he opened the door to the first cell and motioned the girl inside.
Without looking at him, she entered the cell, her head high.
He locked the door and pocketed the key. "My steward will bring you paper and quill in the morning. You are to write to your father and tell him of your circumstances. Tell him if he wishes to see you again, he will take your place here. If not…" He almost choked on the words. "Your life will be forfeit."
"He will never agree," she said.
"You had best hope he does," Reyes replied. And then, unable to face her any longer, he turned and left the dungeon.
Shoulders slumping in defeat, Shanara looked at her surroundings. The floor and the walls were of damp gray stone. There was a straw tick and a ragged blanket on the floor in the corner, both of which were no doubt crawling with vermin. A vile odor rose from the slop jar in the corner.
Despite her determination not to cry, hot tears burned her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Her father would never sacrifice himself for her. He had five strong sons and three other daughters. His youngest daughter was of little value. She doubted he even remembered her name or was aware of her absence from the
He closed his eyes, picturing Shanara Montiori in his mind: defiant green eyes set beneath soft brown brows, a fall of reddish-brown hair as thick as his own, skin smooth and unblemished.
Reyes swore a vile oath, annoyed by the turn of his thoughts. She was the daughter of his enemy and he would do what he had vowed to do. He would keep her imprisoned while he waited to hear from Montiori, and when her father refused to take her place, as Reyes knew he surely would, Reyes would send her back to her father a piece at a time, until the coward agreed to surrender or to face him, one on one, in a battle to the death. No armies. No spectators. Just the two of them, alone.
He had ordered that she be bathed and attired in clean clothes because he could not, in good conscience, do otherwise. Now it was time to remember that she was his prisoner and treat her as such. He would personally escort her to the dungeon. He would demand that she write a letter to her father, telling Montiori of his terms, and then it was up to Montiori.
Filled with new resolve, Reyes opened the door and stepped inside, felt his breath catch in his throat as she turned away from the hearth to look at him, her eyes wide and startled, like a doe sensing danger. The velvet gown hugged a figure any man would kill to possess. The light from the fire danced in her hair and caressed her cheek.
Clearing his throat, he closed the door behind him.
She took a step backward and then, as though thinking better of it, she drew herself up to her full height. And waited.
And he did what he had been wanting to do from the moment he first saw her. Walking purposefully across the room, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He had expected her lips to be sweet, but he hadn't expected the sudden heat that flowed through him. It wasn't just the heat of desire, or the normal longing of a man for a woman. No, it was more than that, a feeling he didn't understand, one he had never known before.
Forcing himself to let her go, she stared up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. He had to get her out of here, now, he thought, before he drew her down on the bed, removed her gown, and explored the lush curves that lay beneath.
"Follow me," he said curtly, and before he could change his mind, he opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
After a moment's hesitation, she followed him.
Wordlessly, he led her through the keep and down the winding stone steps that led to the dungeon.
It was a cold and dismal place, lit by torches. He heard the scurrying of rats as he opened the door to the first cell and motioned the girl inside.
Without looking at him, she entered the cell, her head high.
He locked the door and pocketed the key. "My steward will bring you paper and quill in the morning. You are to write to your father and tell him of your circumstances. Tell him if he wishes to see you again, he will take your place here. If not…" He almost choked on the words. "Your life will be forfeit."
"He will never agree," she said.
"You had best hope he does," Reyes replied. And then, unable to face her any longer, he turned and left the dungeon.
Shoulders slumping in defeat, Shanara looked at her surroundings. The floor and the walls were of damp gray stone. There was a straw tick and a ragged blanket on the floor in the corner, both of which were no doubt crawling with vermin. A vile odor rose from the slop jar in the corner.
Despite her determination not to cry, hot tears burned her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Her father would never sacrifice himself for her. He had five strong sons and three other daughters. His youngest daughter was of little value. She doubted he even remembered her name or was aware of her absence from the
Similar Books
