His Captive Bride by Shelly Thacker Page A

the keep, grabbing her arm. Panic made her strike out with her fists as he spun her around and pulled her against his chest.
    “Let me go!” she screamed. “Let me—”
    His arms tightened around her until she could not break free, could barely even wriggle.
    “There is nowhere to run, milady,” he said with a growl, threading one hand through her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Do you not understand? You are on an island . If you try that again, you will fling yourself over a cliff in the darkness and fall to your death!”
    Unable to struggle, Avril was all too vividly aware of the way his hard body engulfed her, the strength of his arm around her waist, the way her breasts flattened against the solid muscle of his chest. Feeling trapped and helpless and terrified, she spat in his face.
    He released her but kept one hand around her wrist like a manacle. “Heed me well, milady,” he grated out, wiping the back of his other hand across his cheek. “Whoever and whatever you were before, it no longer matters.” His eyes seemed to glitter unnaturally in the moonlight. “Now come back inside and garb yourself. We are late. The council awaits us.”

Chapter 5

    A vril had already learned three valuable lessons about this formidable rogue who called himself Hauk Valbrand: he answered her every question with a riddle, he brooked no disobedience to his orders—and he was every bit as powerful and unyielding as he looked.
    It had been foolish to continue fighting him after he caught her on the cliff and led her back into his keep, ordering her to change clothes.
    He had some fresh scratches near his eyes, courtesy of her fingernails.
    She had her hands bound before her, courtesy of his superior physical strength.
    And she was now wearing a simple linen gown in a lovely shade of violet with purple embroidery along the bodice and hem.
    “Milady, I have given you my word that you will not be harmed in any way. If you would cease causing trouble, you would make this unfortunate situation less difficult for us both.”
    Avril did not reply, her breathing fast and shallow, her captor’s spicy, male scent invading her senses with every gulp of air. None of his many reassurances eased her fear in the least—not with his brawny arm encircling her waist as he carried her into the darkness astride a swift, dun-colored stallion. The horse’s dark brown mane and tail fanned out on the wind as they rode through the moonlit night, following a path that led down the hillside away from Valbrand’s home.
    She would not make the mistake of arguing or fighting with her captor further. After taking her inside his keep, he had turned his back and given her to the count of twenty to don one of the gowns he had brought for her. She had obeyed quickly, calling him a few choice names under her breath, refusing his help in tying the laces up the back of the garment.
    That she now regretted... because she could feel his bare skin pressed against hers, smooth and warm. He was holding her so tight, she half expected the pattern of the gown’s open laces to be branded into her shoulders by the hard, flat muscles of his chest. Clearly he was determined not to let her out of his sight or out of his grasp again.
    She forced herself to ignore the uncomfortable sensation—and the equally disturbing heat that shimmered between them, growing more intense with each moment she remained in his company.
    Mayhap it was only the island’s humid, sultry air that caused the strange feeling. It could be simply the hot weather making her light-headed, making perspiration trickle down her skin until the fabric of her gown clung to her body.
    Or it could be the way her captor held her so close, her every curve fitted to the hard planes of his body.
    She banished that thought furiously. Her stomach knotting with anxiety, she fastened her attention on her surroundings, thinking of what he had said on the cliff. Whoever and whatever you were before, it no