His Captive Bride by Shelly Thacker

certain ilk, to gain riches or power from noble families.
    He choked out a laugh, a humorless sound. “Does it look as if I am lacking in wealth, milady?”
    She glanced around the room, seeing everything clearly in the wavering light. The long, single chamber was not only the size of a great hall—it was filled with fine goods, tapestries, costly artifacts, furnishings of every description. One nearby trunk, its top wide open, held an overflowing pile of silver and gold coins in many sizes, including some that looked ancient.
    Her stomach started churning. Clearly her abductor was not in need of more riches. “Then why have you kidnapped me?”
    “Because once I claimed you, I had no choice,” he bit out. “Neither of us has a choice any longer, milady.”
    She shook her head, unable to breathe. “You are not making sense. Naught you have said makes any sense! What do you want with me? What happened to my friend—”
    “Your friend is safe and well, as you are,” he assured her. “Neither of you has come to any harm, and neither of you will. You have my word.”
    “What good is the word of a knave and a brigand who kidnaps defenseless women?”
    “You are hardly defenseless,” he said dryly, turning to regard her once again. “And though you may believe me a brigand, I am in fact honor-bound to protect and care for you now. I know this is difficult for you to accept, milady.” He raked a hand through his tangled blond hair, looking frustrated. “You will understand eventually. But there is no time now to explain further. We are late for the althing —”
    “The all-what?”
    “ Althing . There is a meeting of our council of elders tonight, and your presence is required.” He gestured toward the sacks he had brought in for her. “Change your garments. Let us be on our way.”
    Avril gaped at him. Simple as that, he expected her to obey him? “Listen, you... you... overgrown oaf, I do not know who you are—”
    “I have told you my name.” He frowned. “I suppose I should ask yours.”
    “Lady Avril de Varennes,” she supplied hotly. “Of the family of the Duc Gaston de Varennes of the Artois.” She emphasized the word duc . “Mayhap you have heard of him. Mayhap you realize now what a mistake you have made. The Varennes family holds favor with King Philippe himself. They will be looking for me—”
    “They will not find you.”
    The confident way he stated that made Avril’s breath catch in her throat. “You are wrong! They will not rest until they find me. And when the duc’s men get their hands on you—”
    “They will not.”
    Again he said it as a simple matter of fact. Avril started to tremble. Her mind was spinning. She felt as if she were caught in a nightmare from which she could not awaken.
    “Now, milady, we must go to the althing . You may leave the weapon.” Her abductor gestured at the sword in the middle of the bed, one corner of his mouth curved in a humorless grin. “You will not need it.”
    Avril remained rooted in place, blinking at him. She did not know what to make of this mysterious, powerfully muscled, maddening man. Thus far, he had not tried to hurt or abuse her. He had spoken the truth about that. And his claim that he was honor-bound to protect and care for her sounded almost chivalrous. For a brigand.
    Yet she dared not trust a word he said.
    Lowering her gaze to the floor, she slowly moved around the bed, trying to appear docile and chastened and obedient. She walked past him, toward the sacks on the opposite side of the room, holding her breath. Judging the distance.
    When she was a few steps from the door, she broke into a run, tore the door open, and rushed headlong outside into the night.
    A frightened cry escaped her as she heard him giving chase, cursing with every step. Her heart pumping, she hiked up the silk kirtle and long tunic and raced into the darkness.
    But though she was fast, she was not fast enough.
    He caught her only a few yards beyond