True Love by Flora Speer Page B

on,
the reins of her horse. She would pay close attention to his
movements and seize the moment to regain control of her horse. She
had noticed on the previous day that Achard was not a particularly
good horseman, so she did not doubt that if she caught him in the
act of dismounting, and especially if she startled his horse, she
could be across the open fields and well on her way to catching up
with her father before Achard was back in his saddle and in
pursuit.
    Her plan was formulated in haste and without
reckoning with Achard's intentions. As they approached the willow
trees he flung an arm around her waist and pulled her off her
horse, holding her against his side with her legs dangling
free.
    “Put me down at once!” Catherine yelled at
him. She struck out with her fists, punching him in the chest and
the chin. “Let me go!”
    “As you wish, my lady.” Achard released her,
letting her drop to the ground.
    By the time Catherine rolled over and sat up,
Achard had dismounted and was wrapping the reins of both horses
around the trunk of one of the willow trees.
    “How dare you!” Catherine scrambled to her
feet, brushing grass and mud off her skirts. “I warn you, Lord
Achard, my father will be very angry when he hears of your
actions.”
    “Royce has given me permission to court you,”
Achard said, coming toward her.
    “Not as roughly as you are doing,” Catherine
exclaimed. She thrust out both gloved hands to fend him off. “Keep
your distance, my lord.”
    “How can I stay away from your sweet lips?”
Achard cried. “My dearest lady, you see before you a lover whose
only sin is that he is overeager. I long to hear you say you will
accept me as your husband.”
    “You will never hear me agree to wed you, if
you persist in treating me this way,” she told him coldly.
    “Catherine, I adore you. I ache to hold you
in my embrace. One kiss, my sweet love. That's all I ask. Then let
us sit under the willow tree and speak of our happy future
together.”
    “Do you truly care for me as passionately as
you claim?” Catherine asked, regarding him with a great deal of
suspicion. She did not take a single step in the direction of the
trees.
    “Indeed, I do. Only let me prove the depth of
my feelings to you.” Achard reached out to clasp her in his arms.
Catherine backed away. Achard followed, matching her step for
step.
    “If you have any honest concern for me,” she
said, “you will stop this foolishness at once and allow me to
remount and join my father.”
    “But you do not like to hunt,” he said,
pulling off his gauntlets and tucking them into his belt with a
swift motion that alarmed Catherine. Before she could move away
from him, Achard caught her wrist and began to drag her toward the
privacy of the willows. “Let us lie down together on the grass
while I introduce you to the ways of love.”
    Catherine made a fist with her free hand and
took a swing at him. Achard saw the blow coming and jerked hard on
her wrist, pulling her off balance. Catherine missed hitting Achard
and fell to her knees. When she looked up at him, she surprised a
gloating expression on his face and she knew without any doubt what
he was planning to do to her once he got her to the trees. There,
beneath the swaying, drooping willow branches, his vile act would
be hidden from anyone passing by along the road. After Achard was
finished with her, she would have no choice but to marry him. Or
enter a convent, as Braedon's cousin had done.
    Catherine had no desire to spend the rest of
her life behind convent walls, and she most certainly did not want
to wed a man who would treat a woman as Achard was treating her.
She bent her head and bit him on the hand that held her wrist in a
brutal grip, sinking her teeth in as hard as she could. He grabbed
her hair, pulling hard on the braids to force her head back and
away from his hand.
    “So, you do like the hunt, after all,” he
said. “You enjoy the final struggle.”
    Catherine glared